


hold me close, but not too close

by HomeIsWhereTheWordsAre



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Crank Newt (Maze Runner), Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Hurt Thomas (Maze Runner), M/M, Memories/Flashbacks, Newt (Maze Runner) Lives, POV Multiple, Post-The Maze Runner, Safe Haven (Maze Runner), Sensory Overload, The Maze Runner Spoilers, teresa is a good bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:00:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28639659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomeIsWhereTheWordsAre/pseuds/HomeIsWhereTheWordsAre
Summary: It had been six months since WCKD burned.Six months since Thomas watched Newt die in his arms.Six months since his heart shattered into tiny fragments, opening wounds that would never heal.Though Thomas had tried to pick up the pieces of his past life, he’d lost too much of himself to ever be whole again. Without Newt, Thomas felt incomplete – missing his other half who complimented him so well, who gave him a purpose worth fighting for, who reminded him that he could never give up.***Thomas and his friends have made it to The Safe Haven.They're six months on from what they believe to be Newt's death, and Thomas is heartbroken.He's haunted by the memories of his best friend, reliving the moment he lost him over and over again.Thomas is sure Newt's dead, but across the vast ocean lives a certain blonde haired boy, who may just be alive enough to outrun the remains of WCKD, one last time.
Relationships: Newt & Thomas (Maze Runner), Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 79
Kudos: 136





	1. Fragmented Beyond Repair

It was a recurring nightmare that woke him.

A scream clawed its way up his throat, scratching against him, begging for release. Thomas had no option _but_ to scream, startling his friends in their small cabin. Violent shudders coursed through his body as he pulled his knees into his chest and bowed his head. His shaking hands gripped his hair roughly, pulling at it, but Thomas barely noticed it.

He was too consumed by fear.

He felt sick. Everything was wrong; the way his sweat soaked clothes stuck to his skin, the sudden, unbearable heat in the cabin, the tattered blanket wrapped around his legs like a vine. Even the sound of his own breathing sent Thomas’ head spinning. It was too fast, too shallow. His lungs burned as he tried to gasp for air.

He was vaguely aware of his friends now trying to get his attention, gently calling his name, coaxing his head out from between his knees, even putting a reassuring hand on his back which was now dripping with sweat. Ever so slowly, Thomas lifted his head, eyes frantically scanning the people around him.

A wave of relief washed over him as he realised it was only Minho, Gally and Frypan. Of course, who else would it be? Certainly not…

But Thomas couldn’t let himself finish that thought.

Minho’s voice eventually reached him through his panicked heavy breathing, instructing him to breathe deeper, to breathe slower. His hand clamped his shoulder blade, stilling him from attempting to move, forcing Thomas to keep his attention on him. The grip wasn’t supposed to be menacing, nor did it feel as such, but it kept Thomas focussed on Minho.

“Just keep breathing, Thomas. Focus on your breathing.”

Thomas tried not to let the feeling of his t-shirt sticking to his body distract him – he _really_ tried – but it was too much. He let out an involuntary whine, feeling embarrassed, and in a haze, peeled it from his body. He tossed it to the ground, running his hands over his face as he inhaled a stuttering breath.

Minho continued to talk him through breathing exercises while Gally fetched him a bottle of water. Thomas gratefully pressed the bottle against his lips, his sweating and shaking beginning to ease as he took small sips of the cool liquid.

Eventually, Thomas’ breathing evened out, returning to normal. He wasn’t sure how long it had taken to calm down but, like most nights, he imagined it took quite a while and, judging from the exhausted looks on his friends faces, it was still early in the morning, hours before sun up.

“I…” Thomas tried, his throat raw and aching.

“It’s okay, Thomas,” Frypan spoke, offering a small smile. Hesitantly, he reached out and placed a careful hand on Thomas’ knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

They were used to this by now but it never stopped them from leaping out of their beds instantly to be by Thomas’ side. It had almost become routine. He didn’t want for his friends to have to see him like this; screaming and crying in panic, hyperventilating, sometimes thrashing about in his sleep before Thomas himself woke up. He’d apologise over and over again in a blur of gasping for breath, and again when he was calm, tears rolling down his cheeks, but his friends would always brush it off, hushing him with a gentle “there’s no reason to be sorry.”

But Thomas couldn’t help feeling guilty, despite the countless times they told him not to.

On his most endless nights, Thomas would curl himself into Minho’s chest, aching for comfort. Minho, thankfully, provided that for Thomas. He would carefully run his fingers along Thomas’ arms, sometimes brushing them through his hair. He’d wrap his arms around Thomas, pulling him in close – but not too tightly – and kept his sleepy gaze on his friend, staying up with him as long as he could before he drifted off into a much-needed sleep.

Thomas didn’t mind being the only one awake, knowing he wouldn’t be able to fall back over into a peaceful sleep like his friends could, he just appreciated Minho’s presence as he stayed in his bed, pressed against his strong, muscular chest. Sometimes, Thomas had to slip away; being so close to Minho could, at times, be suffocating. The closeness made it hard to breathe, the mere touch sometimes feeling so overwhelming Thomas couldn’t function.

And it’s not because he was attracted to Minho, absolutely not, but because it reminded him of the moments identical to those that he shared with another – with Newt.

And, also, because his body reacted to senses differently than most people; his senses occasionally heightened, like his brain couldn’t ignore it and had to amplify everything that was happening around him. Sometimes, it would become so intense he’d break down into a panic, hyperventilating, trying to hide himself away from whatever was triggering him, wanting to act on the urge to just _get up_ and run away.

Newt would help him through meltdowns. He was always patient with Thomas, knowing to speak quietly so as not to overwhelm him further, refusing to leave his side while he coached from erratic to steady breathing. When Thomas was calm enough, Newt would gingerly place a hand on his shoulder, the touch light and bordering on ghost like but still evidently there. Thomas would crawl into Newt’s arms, slowly, where delicate arms would encase him, and hushed words would remind him he was safe.

But Newt was dead and that comfort was gone.

When Minho glanced at Thomas in a silent offer of a share of his small, singular bed, Thomas shook his head. Tonight, he didn’t want to be consoled by Minho. He wanted to be alone. His friends understood immediately, pushing themselves to their feet and giving him one last sympathetic smile before retreating to their beds.

Thomas waited until everyone was asleep before he slipped out of the cabin, picking up a clean shirt and pulling over his head before making his way towards the edge of the beach.

The Safe Haven was peaceful, the only sounds being the waves of the ocean crashing against the shore. Thomas walked along the sand, his bare feet sinking in ever so slightly. There was a slight chill in the air and Thomas felt it brush up against him, sweeping across his face refreshingly. He breathed in deep, inhaling the scent of the salty ocean littered with mounds of seaweed.

Thomas wasn’t certain where he was going, but he didn’t intend on going far – just far away enough to think.

After a few minutes of walking, with The Safe Haven still in clear view, Thomas perched himself on a log. Staring out at the horizon, he cleared his mind from the nights previous events. He was too exhausted, too distant from himself, to feel embarrassed, so he decided he didn’t feel it. He struggled to recollect the panic attack as it felt completely blurred, minutes blending into seconds, into nothing but the mere passing of time. He had no issue, however, remembering the nightmare. It resurfaced every time he closed his eyes.

It was the same one he had almost every night, replaying like a broken record; sometimes changing, sometimes different, but always forcing him to relive the same, traumatic moment.

Thomas’ hands absent-mindedly gravitated towards the necklace that hung around his neck. He fiddled with the pendant, twirling it between his fingers. It was the last thing Newt ever gave to Thomas. He remembered the moment as if it had only just happened.

_Newt was succumbing quickly to The Flare, but in his final moments of sanity he clasped the necklace in Thomas’ hands, giving him the happiest, most loving smile, he could muster. Newt had raised a quivering hand, black veins standing out on his pale skin, and cupped Thomas’ face, just along his jawline. He caressed his cheek with his thumb, swiping away Thomas’ fast falling tears._

_Newt pulled Thomas towards him and rested their foreheads together. His hand slowly moved to the back of Thomas’ neck as he let out a shuddering breath, his own, silent tears falling now, too._

_“Don’t forget me, Tommy,” Newt whispered, his voice shaking. “Promise you won’t forget me.”_

_“Don’t talk like that,” Thomas scolded. “You’re going to be okay, Newt, you just have to hang on a little bit longer.”_

_Thomas placed his own trembling hand on top of Newt’s before slowly sliding it up his arm, settling it in his long locks of blonde hair. He blocked out the fighting and yelling in the streets, focussing solely on Newt, feeling his warm breath fanning across his face. Thomas’ nose bumped against Newt’s, transferring their tears between them as they slid down their faces._

_He wasn’t sure how much time had passed (or how much time they had left) but a sharp inhale startled Thomas. He opened his eyes, meeting Newt’s brown orbs that were seeping with black. He tried his best to appear unafraid, trying not to look taken aback by what little was left of his best friend but amidst the chaos and terror, Thomas was left with a burning question; when did their faces get so close?_

It had been six months since WCKD burned.

Six months since Thomas watched Newt die in his arms.

Six months since his heart shattered into tiny fragments, opening wounds that would never heal.

Though Thomas had tried to pick up the pieces of his past life, he’d lost too much of himself to ever be whole again. Without Newt, Thomas felt incomplete – missing his other half who complimented him so well, who gave him a purpose worth fighting for, who reminded him that he could _never_ give up.

“I’d follow you anywhere, Thomas. We all would. So, you can’t give up. I won’t let you.”

And he did.

Newt followed Thomas to his end and Thomas wished desperately that he could have made it to The Safe Haven with them; to a place where they revelled in the freedom they fought long and hard for.

To a place far from WCKD.

“I thought it was you I saw.”

A voice from behind spooked Thomas slightly, and he snapped his head around to look at the figure standing not too far from where he was sitting. Thomas quickly dropped the necklace he was still holding between his fingers. His heart hammered as he squinted his eyes, barely making out the features of the person in the darkness.

Teresa.

Instantly, he relaxed. “Don’t scare me like that.” Despite the panic in his voice, Thomas couldn’t help the small smile that etched itself on his face.

“Sorry, Thomas,” Teresa apologised. “Can I sit?”

Thomas nodded, turning his attention back to the blurred line between the ocean and sky. They sat in silence, neither making any attempts at conversation. Teresa fidgeted with the sleeves of her cardigan, her brow furrowed and mouth in a tight line.

“Bad dream again?” She asked weakly. She bit her lip when Thomas didn’t respond, her eyes roaming his face, searching for an answer in Thomas’ tensed jaw. He didn’t turn to look at her, but he gave a curt nod of his head.

“You know I am sorry, Thomas. For everything that happened.”

“I know,” Thomas spoke softly. He knew Teresa was telling the truth, that she truly was sorry, but he couldn’t forgive her.

Teresa betrayed him and his friends. She led WCKD to the Right Arm after a mere day of finding reconciliation there, when their hopes of escaping WCKD was at its peak. Not only had Minho been captured, but Teresa had gone with them.

The pain of her betrayal lingered for a while afterward. It still did, if Thomas was being honest. He’d lost people because of her, and he’d lost his trust in her, something that wasn’t easy to come by anymore. Sometimes, Thomas selfishly thought that it wasn’t fair that Teresa survived when Newt didn’t, but he had to remind himself that he saved her because he couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.

Thomas was trying to learn to forgive her but for the time being, civility was the best option.

“I know you’re sorry, but you know I can’t forgive you. At least, not right now.”

Teresa offered a smile, understanding. They said nothing else, the weight of Thomas’ words surrounding them. Although Thomas appreciated her company, he couldn’t help but wish it were Newt in her place instead.

**BEFORE**

_The Glade_

The screeching forced Thomas to press his hands over his ears. The clanking and thumping coursed through his body, and where he kneeled, he curled himself into a ball, attempting to still his hammering heart. Thomas could hardly hear his loud wails, his chest aching as he coughed and gasped for air, a burning feeling in the back of throat as though he was bound to throw up.

Thomas wanted to scream himself hoarse, unable to cope with the noise that thundered around him. He didn’t know where he was, only that he was trapped inside a metal box that elevated at a tremendous speed. The lights that flickered on and off every few seconds caused Thomas to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to block it out his vision.

He wanted it to _stop_.

The box came to an abrupt stop, taking with it the deafening noises and flashing lights. Thomas sobbed in the split second of darkness and peace before he heard another creaking noise, and through his tightly shut eyes, he could hear a latch being lifted, and sunlight came splitting through the darkness.

His hyperventilation became intensely louder in his ears. He choked on his sharp breathing; lungs threatened to fail as he suffocated from the lack of air he inhaled. Thomas didn’t register the group of teenage boys standing around him, a few feet higher up than he was, looking down on him, murmuring between themselves. Nor did Thomas notice the six-foot boy leaping into the box, towering over him where he stayed curled on the floor.

“Greenie?” A confused voice spoke, trying to grasp Thomas’ attention.

“Back up, Gally,” another spoke, this one calmer, more civilised, with an accent to it. “Give him space.”

Thomas felt the box clear, indicating that the tall boy – Gally – had stepped back. But it wasn’t for long as another figure took his place. This time, the person was softer in their approach, not getting too close to Thomas.

“Alby,” he spoke. “Move everyone away. Keep this area clear.”

There was a faint rustling noise as the group of boys walked away, grumbling as they did so, puzzled by what they had witnessed.

Thomas cracked his eyes open, squinting as they adjusted to the sunlight beaming down on him. He watched the shadow of the boy as he kneeled next to him, still respectably keeping his distance. Thomas struggled to calm down, feeling overwhelmed as the screeching noises replayed over and over in his head. The stranger felt too close, still, where he was kneeling and in a moment of panic, Thomas scurried into the corner of the box. He removed his hands from over his ears and instead covered his face with one forearm, the other hand producing a vice like grip in the holes of the caged, metal walls.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” they rushed out, voice unthreatening. “I’m Newt. Do you remember your name?”

Thomas fought for breath and, with a wheeze, replied, “Thomas.”

“Okay, Thomas. I need you to breathe as deep as you can, alright? There’s nothing here that’s going to hurt you, I just need you to breathe.”

For an unknown reason, Thomas felt compelled to follow the strangers – Newt, his name was Newt – instructions. With great exertion, Thomas sucked in a breath.

“That’s good, Thomas, really good. Another.”

With Newt aiding him and passing words of encouragement, Thomas’ breathing returned to its normal, steady rate, huffing as he neared the end with exhaustion. His chest no longer felt as though it was on fire, alight and roaring inside of him, but still felt slightly tight when he inhaled.

He was alive, and that was enough.

This time, when Newt approached Thomas, he didn’t turn and dart away. He allowed the boy to minimize the distance between them. Though Thomas jerked slightly when Newt placed a delicate hand on his arm, he didn’t snatch it away. Newt lowered it from his face, then slowly reached for Thomas’ hand – which was clenching the metal walls of the box – and loosened his grip.

The back of his hand tingled at the contact. Or maybe it was the feeling returning to his fingers from where he’d cut off the circulation. Thomas turned his head to look at Newt properly, catching a glimpse of him for the first time.

Newt was beautiful; golden blonde hair dazzling where the sun caught him, sharp pale features enhancing in the light, and his eyes… deep brown, meeting Thomas’ own eyes. Thomas resisted the urge to gulp under his pressing stare.

Gradually, Newt rose to his feet. His hands trailed their way to Thomas’ hands, clasping them in his own, and hauled him to his feet, too. There was barely a foot between them where they stood. No contact had been breached, either.

“Let’s go, Newt! We need to get the supplies out!” Gally’s yell interrupted them, and Newt and Thomas jumped away from each other. Their eyes broke contact first, followed by their hands. Thomas awkwardly lowered his arms to his side, longing for Newt’s tender touch once more.

After a moment of silence, Newt spoke up, a grin spreading across his face; “c’mon, Greenie. I’ll give you the introductory tour.”

**PRESENT DAY**

_Somewhere across the ocean_

The cycle was endless:

waking to blinding white lights,

looking to his side and seeing tubes stuck into his arms,

people in lab coats wandering, some standing next to him,

holding tools in their hands.

His head felt fuzzy as they spoke

but he couldn’t decipher the words.

And then they’d see him drifting into consciousness

and insert a sedative into his bloodstream

as he weakly cried out at them to stop

before he fell back into an induced, coma-like sleep

where his haunted dreams awaited him. 


	2. Ghosts of Our Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  
> I have a few things I wanna say really quickly;
> 
> The first being my update schedule will be around every 3-4 days, I do college full time so I write in my free time.
> 
> Secondly, the structure of of these chapters will be the present in the Safe Haven, then BEFORE which will tell Thomas and Newt's story chronologically from the events of The Maze Runner. It's going to explore their relationship a bit further so you can see the connection they had before the Safe Haven and so that I'm not relying too heavily on their memories. Then at the end of the chapter there will be a present in Newt's POV.
> 
> Thirdly, any small memories I include throughout chapters will appear in future chapters as I want to fully explore them and, again, give you more Newtmas content.
> 
> I hope that all made sense, any questions just leave them in the comments and I'll reply! Thank you for all your lovely comments on the first chapter and I hope you enjoy this one too!

The sun ascended into the pale pink sky, its morning light waking the population of The Safe Haven. Thomas watched from afar as the relatively large group of survivors stepped out of their cabins, some of them rushing to occupy the makeshift showers, while others, like Frypan, busied themselves at their workstations.

Frypan, along with a small band of people, were responsible for feeding The Safe Haven. They ensured that everyone had enough to eat at breakfast, lunch and dinner, devoting the majority of their day to cooking and providing for the rest of the camp. Without them, everyone would either be starved or fighting over scraps of food.

Thomas stood from the log he was still sitting on, his legs stiff from not stretching them for a few hours. He’d lost track of time, the hours drifting by nonchalantly. Teresa had left already, but Thomas sure _exactly_ when. He walked back towards the camp, taking his time, trying not to get wound up from the busying of The Safe Haven. It was at its loudest in the morning with everyone’s scrambling and occasional light arguing, so Thomas waited until the queues for the showers were clear, and the line for breakfast was empty.

He opened the door to his cabin an inch, pausing to listen out for a startled Gally or Minho warning a quick “give me a minute, I’m getting dressed!” But Thomas didn’t hear anyone call out, and assumed it was safe to enter. He pushed the door open the rest of the way, relieved to find that he wasn’t met with one of his friends half-naked. There were times when he wasn’t fortunate enough to avoid this scenario, the image of a naked Minho ingrained into his mind forever. Minho simply wiggled his eyebrows at Thomas, unembarrassed, causing Thomas’ face to heat like a furnace.

Thomas gathered a bundle of clean clothes together as well as a towel and soap dish before wandering towards the shower block, a wooden hut the size of two large cabins put together. They were almost vacant, two of the seven cubicles occupied. Thomas locked the door of his chosen cubicle at the end of the block, hanging his towel on the back of the door and leaving his clean clothes on a small shelf, one that had been installed to avoid clothes getting soaked on the floor.

Everyone was limited to three minutes in the showers in order to preserve water. Thomas sucked in a deep breath, turning on the shower and scuttling backwards to avoid being splashed by freezing cold rain water. His chest seized, unprepared for the droplets that pelted him. He heard his breathing go awry, a whimper escaping the back of his throat. He steadied himself against a wall, forehead resting on the oak wood, staring down at the floor where the water began pooling at his feet.

_The water pooled at his feet before it circled down the drain. Thomas stared in horror at the amount of blood rinsing off of him. It was Chuck’s blood, covering every inch of his hands. Thomas wanted to scream – he wanted to mourn for the loss of his friend, a boy too young to die, a boy too young to sacrifice himself._

He recuperated, scolding himself for wasting precious water, and pushed himself off the wall. Showering was a challenge for Thomas; it sent him into fight or flight mode as he struggled to cope with the sensation of cold water against his body. It wasn’t a sense that over stimulated him enough to cause a meltdown, but it made him uncomfortable.

Steeling himself, Thomas stepped under the falling water. He grabbed the almost empty bottle of coconut scented shampoo and lathered a drop into his dampening hair, trying to relax as he massaged it into his scalp. His body tensed as he rinsed it out, so Thomas moved quickly, beginning to find the temperature of the water unbearable. He reached for the soap dish and popped it open, cleaning himself with the bar of soap stored inside it.

For hygiene reasons, everyone had their own bar of soap retained in a plastic container.

Thomas shut down the shower and wrapped his towel around his shivering body as he dried himself off. He dressed in clean clothes, the cotton shirt fitting snugly over his muscular build. Thomas gathered up his belongings and exited the shower block, dropping his dirty clothes in a basket in the corner of his cabin to get washed another day.

As he was about to leave the cabin for the third time that morning (this time in search of food), a creaking of the door stopped him in his tracks.

“Safe!” Thomas called out to whoever was stood on the opposite side. The door opened another fraction to reveal Frypan carrying a plate brimming with food. He flashed a smile at Thomas, extending his arms and beckoning for him to take the plate.

“Thanks, Fry.” Thomas smiled as he took the plate from his friends’ hand, and the bottle of water produced from the other. He bit into a cut of bacon, huffing out a content sigh. “Really appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing, thought you might need something to perk you up a little.” Frypan cast him a benign smile. Thomas was grateful for Frypan’s kindness. The boys joked he was the mother hen of their little family, always taking care of everyone. He was especially responsive to Thomas’ nightmares; calming him when he woke up, disassociated, choking on his cries of terror, and the next morning ensuring he was fed and watered.

Thomas lowered himself on to his bed, balancing the plate on his knees as he ate.

“There’s a supply run happening today,” Frypan caught his interest. “Minho, Gally, Brenda and Jorge. They’re leaving soon, if you wanna join them?”

Thomas swallowed, nodding his head. “Sure, I’ll go with them. It’ll be good to get out again.”

“I’ll let them know you’ll be ready shortly, then.” Frypan was half way out the door when he stopped in his tracks, looking back at Thomas once more. “It’s good to see you looking better, Thomas.”

And with that that, he turned on his heel and shut the door behind him.

***

The drive was quiet. Jorge was behind the wheel, muttering to Brenda every now and again, while Minho, Gally and Thomas squeezed together in the back of the truck, their broad shoulders knocking together as they drifted round corners and narrowly avoided pot holes. Thomas turned his head to look out the window, seeing a world overrun by chaos.

And sand. _Lots_ of sand.

Earth’s plane had become a desert. Buildings were run down, collapsing, some burnt from wild fires. This was a world Thomas had no recollection of, a world that WCKD stripped away from him. It was a world in which he was utilised for a means to an end.

But Thomas didn’t want to think about that because, one way or another, his thoughts would arrive at the same place they always did; Newt.

Twice, Newt had been taken from him. WCKD sent him to the maze almost four years ago, wiping his memory of Thomas, and Thomas had to endure every painstaking day of his life surveying his closest friend, searching his eyes for any recollection of him, but they were blank, like he was merely a ghost of his former self.

And he lost him again six months ago, but this time there was no going back, no starting over.

Thomas had a carrot dangled in front of him for so long only for it to be snatched away.

Sometimes, he wondered if ‘friend’ was the right word to describe their relationship, if it fully encompassed what they had.

“We’re almost there, hermanos,” Jorge said from the driver’s seat.

“Where exactly are we going?” Thomas inquired, realising he’d forgotten to ask before they set off.

“A little bit further out, somewhere we haven’t looked yet.”

_“Where are we going?” Thomas giggled as Newt dragged him into the entrance of a colossal building, jaded though still standing. Newt’s hand was coiled around Thomas’ wrist lightly, his skin prickling with delight at the contact. “We’re not supposed to go far from the others. It’s a supply run, remember?”_

_“Relax, Tommy. They’re not going to miss us for five minutes,” Newt replied, continuing to lead Thomas into a-_

_“It’s an art gallery.” Much to his dismay, Newt had let go of Thomas’ wrist, but he didn’t stop walking. Newt wandered into another room, his head swivelling to look at the paintings in frames that hung on the wall. He was in awe, “I can’t remember the last time I visited a place like this.”_

_“Me neither,” Thomas whispered, his eyes still trained on Newt. He looked surreal as he studied the remaining, undamaged artworks, his brown eyes glistening, an ear-to-ear grin painting his face._

_“It’s beautiful,” breathed Newt._

_“Yeah, it is.” Thomas bit down on the words he desperately wanted to speak._

_‘Yeah, you are. Among all the art in this room, you’re my favourite.’_

The truck came to a halt outside a grocery store. The door was boarded up, and the handles barricaded with chains and a padlock. It looked completely abandoned, as though no one had attempted to breach it before.

“Let’s go. Stay close, don’t wander, and for the love of God if you see a Crank, don’t shoot it. Take it out up close,” Brenda instructed, slugging her backpack over her shoulders.

She and Jorge took the lead, already walking towards the barred entrance of the store. Gally, Minho and Thomas followed behind, stuffing their sheathed knives in their boots, covering them with the cuff of their jeans, and loading their guns.

“Ready?” Minho asked.

Thomas nodded, too nervous to reply, while Gally muttered something inaudible.

But Thomas recalled his supply runs with Newt, wishing he were here to calm his racing heart.

**BEFORE**

_The Glade_

They were sitting behind a log, facing away from the bonfire and Gladers, Newt holding a jar of some foul-smelling beverage, taking smalls sips from it every now and again. He’d shown Thomas around the Glade that morning, introducing him to the other boys who lived there. Although Thomas was intent on asking one too many questions, he couldn’t ignore the limp that Newt walked with. He didn’t ask, however, seeing as they’d only just met and it would be rude to invade his privacy like that.

Thomas felt drawn to Newt; his charisma, that charming smile that rarely washed off his face, the way he kept stealing side glances at Thomas, thinking he was being subtle. Thomas may have been insane for thinking it, but something about Newt was familiar. He shrugged it off, though, averting his attention to the various places Newt was pointing out.

“…and no one survives a night in the maze,” Newt finished, but seeing the bewildered expression on Thomas’ face, he added “don’t worry, though. We’ll get out of here eventually.”

Thomas liked Newt’s optimism, the problem was, he didn’t believe he was as hopeful as he sounded.

“How long have you been here?” Thomas asked.

“Three years. I was one of the first to come up,” Newt replied, voice distant. He turned to face Thomas then, his eyes filling with anguish. Thomas was riddled with guilt. He didn’t intend on hurting Newt, he was just curious. Then again, curiosity killed the cat.

“That’s enough questions for one day.” Newt’s signature smile returned as quickly as it faded. He hopped to his feet, swaying slightly from the intake of whatever was in the brew he was drinking, and extended a hand to Thomas, which he gladly took and was hauled to his feet.

Newt pulled too hard, though, and Thomas stumbled forwards, colliding with Newt’s chest and causing him to stagger back a step. The blonde caught him, wrapping arms around Thomas’ back as he tilted his head up and laughed. Thomas righted himself, and Newt’s arms slithered from his back (and Thomas wanted to groan in protest at the loss of contact), but they took up residency on his biceps.

And satisfaction brought it back.

Their faces were inches from each other and Thomas could feel Newt’s breath drift across him, his laughter dispersing, and Thomas wondered if Newt was thinking the same thing; _why did this feel so right?_

“C’mon, Thomas, tonight was supposed to be about you.” Newt’s hands trailed down Thomas’ arms as he stepped backwards, the touch unbearably light. He closed one of his hands around Thomas’ as he turned, dragging him along as he strode towards the bonfire. Thomas, again, was taken by surprise at how strong Newt actually was and was yanked into brisk walk.

Or, as brisk as it could be with Newt’s wavering legs.

And limp.

A jar of brew was forced into Thomas’ free hand by Gally, whom Thomas had very briefly met that morning. Gally stared menacingly down at Thomas, his hands crossed over his chest. He motioned for Thomas to drink, and so, with the pressure of the other Glader’s eyes burning holes into the back of his head, Thomas took a swig.

He spat it out, thankfully twisting his head to the side to avoid spraying it over Gally.

The Glader’s appeared to find this funny as they laughed at Thomas’ expression.

Thomas must have torn his hand away from Newt because he was wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Newt came back into view, though, as he finished that thought, stepping close to Thomas once again. Thomas wondered if he should have been embarrassed by the proximity in front of the rest of the boys, but Newt had put a reassuring hand on Thomas’ arm – elbow, specifically – stopping him from shying away.

“First times always the worst,” he said, which earned a hard swat on the arm from Gally. He laughed, “sorry, Gally. You know its true. How many attempts did it take for you to perfect it?”

Newt air quoted around the word ‘perfect,’, earning another laugh from the Gladers and, this time, Gally too.

“Sip it,” Newt advised Thomas, his laughter lingering in the form of a smile as he lifted Thomas’ arm up, the jar pressing against Thomas’ lips once more. He took a small sip, coughing as he swallowed the vile drink. It wasn’t as bad this time, but it would take Thomas some getting used to. So, he drank more.

“It’s good,” he told Gally in strained voice. Gally clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder, smiling and shaking his head with a huff of laughter.

“I know, Greenie.” And, with that, he sauntered off in another direction, while Newt continued to lead him in the one they were going.

Though the rest of the night passed in a blur and Thomas consumed perhaps one too many brews, he vaguely remembered that not once did Newt leave his side – nor his eyes, those beautiful brown eyes that Thomas wanted to lose himself in.

**PRESENT**

_Somewhere across the ocean_

The brunette danced through his dreams.

Or, maybe, they weren’t dreams,

Perhaps they were memories.

He didn’t know if he was awake or asleep,

Going in and out of consciousness

While being prodded with needles.

There was a lake

And there was a boy

Who called his name;

“Newt.”

And in the lake, the brunettes legs wrapped around his waist, and his hands held the small of his back. The brunettes arms were snaked around his neck, pulling him close, and he leaned back to look in his eyes. Their lips were level and he – Newt – was filled with a burning sensation to kiss him. The urge was so strong, so powerful, his heart hammered in his chest, the world around them freezing so that it was only him and the brunette.

  
“Tommy-” he spoke, and the name came back to him.

_Thomas._

And a new dream replaced this one

Or maybe another memory.

Newt wasn’t sure.

Was any of this real?

Had it been?

And where was the boy,

Thomas,

Who ghosted through them,

With his touches that echoed across his skin.

He was there again.

They lay across the backseat of a car. A truck? It was big enough for their long, lanky bodies. Thomas’ head was tucked into Newt’s chest. Their legs tangled together, Newt’s atop as there was an aching sensation that coursed through it. He threaded his fingers through the brunette’s hair. It was the most relaxed he’d felt since….

And it changed again

Like wind sweeping away the fog

And a new light came bursting through.

Lying beside one another. There were other people but Newt couldn’t see them. The smoky remains of a fire dissipated through the night sky. And they were talking, words too muffled to hear.

“I remember you. I remember us.”

The words as clear as day.

“What do you remember?”

The brunette opened his mouth to speak

But he disappeared again.

And Newt was stranded in the dark.

He wanted to shout,

Scream himself hoarse,

For Thomas.

He wanted his comforting presence

To take over his dreams again.

He couldn’t open his mouth.

He couldn’t scream.

He couldn’t fight his way out of the dark.

So, Newt waited.

He waited for the memories to come seeping back

Like he always did.

And they reminded him

That wherever Thomas was,

He was not.

He was alone.


	3. A Little Bit Longer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed update! 
> 
> I hope the wait was worth it, though.
> 
> I've tried to explore the characters friendships a bit more in this chapter which was super fun and I really enjoyed doing, but there is still a bit of Newtmas content - don't worry, I haven't deprived you of that!

Jorge rattled the chain that was looped and padlocked through the handles of the supermarket door. Pulling them while kicking the wooden doors didn’t solve much but it did make a lot of noise.

“Jorge!” Brenda scolded, putting a hand on his shoulder and lightly pushing him away. She sighed and crouched down in front of the padlock, lifting her jacket sleeve to reveal multiple kirby grips secured on her t-shirt. She took two off and straightened them out before jabbing them into the padlock in an attempt to unlock it.

They heard a _clatter_ as it opened and fell to the ground. Brenda cringed and turned to face them, muttering a small ‘sorry.’ Minho and Jorge joined her in hurriedly removing the metal chains from around the handles.

“These could home in handy,” Jorge said, tossing them aside. “We’ll pick them up on the way out.”

The boards were easier to tear off. They each got their hands on the wood and heaved, snapping it from the force of four people pulling. Gally kept watch, however, seeing as one person had to and he “didn’t fancy getting splinters.”

“I have soft hands,” he said with a shrug, keeping his focus on their surroundings.

Thomas rolled his eyes, ripping the final boards from their nails, his skin being pricked with tiny shards of wood. Wincing, he withdrew his hand, putting it to his mouth, biting out the splinters. He let out a series of curses, ignoring the stunned look on his friends faces. Minho laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head.

“And that,” Gally spoke, “is exactly why I didn’t get involved.”

“I think you misspoke,” Minho said and Gally snapped his head around to look at him, puzzled. “What you _meant_ to say was you’re just lazy.”

Considering Gally was the one in possession of a machine gun, Minho dropped to the ground when it was pointed at him, throwing his hands in the air and apologising through fits of laughter.

“Shank,” he said as Gally tugged him to his feet.

Jorge and Brenda wrenched open the stiff door, the thick rust in the hinges and build-up of it between the door and floor making it almost impossible to move. With an ear-splitting screech, the door swung open, connecting hard with the brick walls and shattering the glass. Frightened, Brenda stumbled backwards, almost falling, but Thomas shot out in time to catch her, his arms linked under hers and carefully lifting her back to her feet.

“Thanks, Thomas,” she said, relief washing over her. Dusting herself off, she pulled out her gun, cocking it. “Let’s go.”

They entered the supermarket, guns drawn, careful to step over any battered items littering the floor. They moved in silence, Gally peering behind every few seconds. The supermarket was vast, meaning a Crank could appear from anywhere, or – quite rarely – a group of people could surround them instantly. The latter of the situations was always the worst. Thomas found they always asked too many questions; who were they, where did they come from, and could they come with them? No? Then, was there anything useful they could take from them?

Thomas would rather be snuck up on by a Crank than another person.

But he didn’t want to jinx it.

“We’re gonna split up,” Jorge said. “Gally, you’re with me. Brenda, you go with Minho and Thomas.”

They split into their groups, Thomas beside Minho and Brenda following closely behind. They moved stealthily, pointing their guns down every isle, ensuring they were clear. They stopped by the canned fruits, checking the expiry dates printed on the metal lids before cramming as many of them as possible into Thomas’ backpack.

“I remember when we did supply runs out in the Scorch,” Brenda said absent-mindedly, moving along to the feminine hygiene section of the store. Grinning, she said, “whenever Harriet and I couldn’t get out on runs we’d ask the boys to get our tampons. Of course, they had no idea what they were looking for, but it was appreciated none the less.”

She opened the boxes and tipped them into her bag, discarding of the boxes afterwards. Space saver, Thomas had learned. Of course, he remembered the first time Brenda had asked him to find supplies for her, and he was so surprised by the number of brands he panicked and brought “half of the store with him,” according to Brenda.

“You should have been specific!” Thomas replied, feigning offense.

“Can’t afford to be specific nowadays, Thomas. It’s not like I knew what tampons an already raided grocery store would have.”

The corners of Minho’s mouth twitched. “What was it like?” He asked, looking between Thomas and Brenda. “You know, after…”

Thomas gave his friend a sympathetic smile.

“It was long,” he replied, softening his voice. “Tough. We spent six months chasing after WCKD, Minho. Chasing after you.”

“Thomas never let us rest and, although I didn’t know you for long, I knew how much you meant to him – how much you meant to Newt.”

There was a pause after she spoke, the name lingering in the air.

Thomas sucked in a deep breath. “We never gave up.” And another. “Newt never let me give up. He was so determined, you know? So addiment about getting you back, shutting down the _if’s_ and the _but’s_. Failing was never an option.”

_“We can’t stop now, Thomas. Not when we’re this close.”_

_“I can’t let you wear yourself out like this. We’re stopping for tonight, it’s not up for debate.”_

_“He’s so close. We’ve almost got him back.”_

_“We can’t pull this off in the dead of night when nobody’s slept or eaten. Can you imagine the list of insults Minho would have for you if you showed up looking like that?”_

_“He won’t have a list to make if we don’t save him.”_

_Thomas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Newt, c’mon. You know I’m right. Look at them.” He gestured to the rest of their group, half asleep as they pitched their tents, barely clambering in before falling asleep._

_“I can’t ask them to keep going right now. We’ve been travelling for three days with barely any rest. We’re stopping and we’ll pick up again tomorrow.”_

_Newt set his jaw and ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Okay,” he whispered, exhausted. “Sorry.”_

_Thomas reached out and placed a comforting hand on his wrist, forcing them to lock eyes. Without uttering a word, he pulled Newt in, wrapping his arms around his torso, and the blonde responded by snaking his arms around Thomas, burying his head into the crook of his neck._

_Newt breathed Thomas in, his exhale hot on Thomas’ neck, and they stayed there in the silence, just breathing, just being._

_And, although they didn’t want to admit it, neither wanted to let the other go._

Thomas dropped his gaze to the floor, suddenly self-conscious. “Let’s go look for other supplies,” he said lowly. He stalked off, and he heard Brenda and Minho move behind him.

“You should have seen them together in the Scorch,” Brenda said quietly, directing her conversation to Minho. “Sometimes, I think they were the ones holding each other together.”

Minho furrowed his brow, a smile crossing his face. “Really?” He asked. “What did I miss? Spare no details.”

“Well, they were always so smitten. You’d rarely see one without the other, which made supply runs a nightmare. They’d put up a huge fuss about it; Newt would demand that Thomas let him go, but Thomas argued to no avail. Constant flirting as well. The only break we got from it was when we were asleep. God knows what went on in the back of that truck.”

The truck.

The truck that Thomas and Newt slept in most nights, curled up against one another, Newt’s chest pressed against Thomas’ back, lips grazing the nape of his neck. The truck where Thomas would find solace in the arms of his best friend.

“Hold on,” Minho spoke, confounded. “Why am I only hearing about this now? I mean, I knew they were close, but…” He paused, shaking his head in disbelief. “Did anything ever happen?”

Brenda shrugged, “not that I know of.”

“Nothing happened,” Thomas said through gritted teeth.

“Did you…” Minho trailed off. There was something in his voice that Thomas couldn’t place. Melancholy? Puzzlement? He tried again; “did you want anything to happen?”

Thomas spun on his heel, aggravated. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know,” he said, his voice cracking on the last word. He swallowed down the emotions choking him. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“When do we talk about it then, Thomas?” Asked Minho, stepping forward. “You never talk about Newt. You detach yourself from us when his name is mentioned. He was my friend too. Did you ever think that maybe _I_ wanted to talk about him?”

Thomas shrunk back, looking away from Minho ashamedly. As selfish as it was, he wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and cry. Of course, he knew that he wasn’t the only person who had lost Newt – Minho had known him for three years, much longer than the mere six months Thomas had – but he didn’t think anyone would understand the way in which he’d lost Newt.

Because they had always been _more_.

Minho softened his gaze, reaching out to pat Thomas’ shoulder. “I miss him too, Thomas, but I don’t think ignoring his existence does justice to his memory.” Thomas opened his mouth to protest, but Minho cut him off; “Just…talk to me, because we still have each other, and I’m not about to lose you too.”

Thomas looked his friend in the eyes, felt the heartache radiating from him, and nodded. He stepped aside to let Minho past, eyes trailing after him as he walked into another isle, his pistol drawn as he stepped around the corner. From the lack of grunts and gunfire, Thomas assumed the isle was clear.

He startled as Brenda appeared beside him. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It wasn’t my place.”

Thomas shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips, “He’s right. I need to talk about it – and I will, in my own time.”

Brenda returned a supportive smile, “If you ever want to talk to me, or you need a hug, you know where to find me.”

And a bout of laughter escaped Thomas. He nodded in thanks, a grin upturning the corners of his mouth. “I’ll remember that.”

They found Minho down an isle; stuffing packs of dried pasta into his backpack. Pasta and rice were the most common foods cooked in the Safe Haven, purely because they were long-lasting and easy to come by, but they never passed up the chance to stock up on some more. Occasionally they hit a jackpot and found tea bags, coffee grains, powdered milk, gravy granules and canned fruit, items which were rationed as they were a rarity. 

“Ready to go?” Thomas asked as Minho closed over the backpack, swinging the weight of it over his shoulders. He nodded, and they jogged to regroup with Jorge and Gally.

But there was no need as they were already sprinting towards them, Gally whirling to unload his gun at something in the distance.

And that’s when they noticed a pack of Cranks hot on their heels.

“Run! Get to the truck!” Jorge yelled.

They didn’t need to be told twice.

And Thomas rethought his previous contemplation; he’d neither prefer to encounter another person _or_ Crank.

**BEFORE**

_The Glade_

Newt was _furious_.

Furious and terrified.

His fingers grazed Thomas’ arm as he reached to stop him from running into the Maze.

But he wasn’t quick enough.

He watched as the doors slid shut with an echoing bang, not knowing if Thomas had survived his half-stupid-half-heroic actions.

Newt’s stomach was unsettled; Alby and Minho were trapped and he knew – he _knew_ – that nobody survived a night in the Maze. It didn’t matter if you wear a fearless leader or a Slopper, you didn’t stand a chance. The invincible became vulnerable, and the vulnerable…well, it would only be a matter of seconds.

Newt had expected to find shreds of his friends clothing on the opposite side of the door. He prepared himself for the heartache, for the loss. He’d known Alby and Minho for three years, as long as he could remember, and he was about to face reality – they were dead.

And Newt didn’t know if he could continue living without them.

  
But what he didn’t expect was to be holding a meeting in the council hall the following day, debating Thomas’ fate, passing the metallic cylinder in his hands back to an unharmed Minho.

“You know what this means, right?” Thomas directed his question to Newt, but his eyes were scanning the entire room, which also consisted of Gally, Frypan, Zart and Winston. “We’ve gotta go back into the Maze. This could be our ticket out of here.”

Newt’s silence gave Gally the opportunity to speak; “Does anyone else hear how crazy this sounds? For all we know, Thomas could be wrong. He could be leading us to our death.”

“Nobody said he was leading us anywhere,” Newt countered. “This is the first clue we’ve found in three years, Gally. Thomas could be wrong, yes, but he could also be right.”

“Right and wrong didn’t come from breaking the rules, it came from following them. And he’s trying to make us abandon them. If Alby was here, you know he’d agree with me.”

“Alby’s not here though, which puts me in charge. Thomas broke the rules, so he needs to be punished.” He locked eyes with Thomas, an apology buried in them. “One night in the pit with no food.”

Gally’s moment of relief didn’t last for long. “Seriously, Newt? You really think that’s going to stop him? Look at what’s happened since he’s arrived. Ben was stung in daylight, and now he’s dead. There’s an unconscious girl who, for a split-second, woke up and recognised Thomas, and now…now Alby’s been stung because he went looking for Ben, which wouldn’t have happened if Thomas wasn’t here in the first place!”

“I know, Gally. I don’t need reminded,” Newt retorted, not tearing his gaze from Thomas. “I don’t think that’s going to stop him, and I don’t intend to, either. Starting from tomorrow, you’re a Runner.”

Thomas bit back a smile to avoid revelling in the accomplishment in front of Gally, who had begun storming off, shrugging Frypan’s hand off his arm in attempt to calm him.

“Thanks, Newt,” Thomas said once he heard the door slam and he was certain Gally couldn’t hear him.

Newt shook his head, “don’t thank me yet, you’ve still got to spend one night in the pit.”

Thomas could have sworn he saw the corners of Newt’s mouth twitch upwards, a miniscule smile teasing his lips. The blonde wanted to smile but he feared he would look too pleased with himself – and it might appear as though he made Thomas a Runner to spite Gally.

Thomas wanted to ask Newt why? Why did he make him a Runner? Why did he give in to Thomas?

But before he could open his mouth, the council hall door burst open. Clint and Jeff stood at the doorway, panting and pointing to a group of boys standing around the treehouse.

“The girl’s awake,” Jeff proclaimed.

***

Thomas opened the hatch at the top of the treehouse, finding himself face-to-face with a sharp machete wielded by a raven-haired girl. She backed herself into a corner, hugging her knees to her chest. As Thomas moved up another step, she jabbed the weapon closer to him.

“I’m not going to hurt you, okay? Just lower the knife and let me up. You can keep it if it makes you feel safer,” Thomas said calmly. “I’m Thomas…but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Curiosity clawed its way up his throat, but he didn’t want to throw the girl in the deep end by asking her questions she probably didn’t know the answer to. Instead, he settled himself on the wooden floor.

“Do you remember your name?” He asked.

The girl studied him for another moment, considering her answer. “Teresa,” she eventually spoke.

Thomas nodded, “okay. It’s nice to meet you, Teresa.”

“Where am I? What is this place?” Her voice sounded panicked as she pointed the machete towards Thomas again. “Why can’t I remember anything?”

Thomas sighed. Despite arriving in the glade days prior, he’d gathered a sufficient amount of information. He explained everything to Teresa; the Maze, the Grievers, Gally’s dislike of Thomas and, most-likely, of Teresa too.

“He thinks it’s my fault,” Thomas finished. He looked over at Teresa, who had moved to sit beside him now, the knife still clutched in her hand but no longer threatening Thomas.

She turned to face him then, an inquisitive look shadowing her. “But you said the Box hasn’t gone down since I got here, so maybe he thinks it’s _my_ fault.”

“Then it can be our fault.” Thomas smirked, a small chuckle escaping him. “How can any of this be because of us? We’re the same as them, aren’t we?”

Realisation dawned on Teresa, and she reached into her pockets, pulling out two tubes filled with light blue liquid. She passed one to Thomas, who swiped his thumb over a single word; WCKD.

“Thomas!” A voice yelled from below. “Time to go!”

Thomas gave the tube back to Teresa. “Give these to Newt,” he instructed her.

He stood up and peered over the ledge, spotting an impatient Gally waiting for him at the bottom of the ladders. His arms were crossed over his chest, eyes ablaze in hatred and silent rage. Thomas scorned at him before finally climbing back down the treehouse ladders. He refused to be intimidated by Gally despite him being taller and wearing a constant apparel of malice.  
  


“What’s your problem with me?” Thomas asked, genuine interest sparking in him.

“Like I said; everything started going wrong the minute you showed up,” Gally said simply. “And, honestly, I don’t think you’re telling us the whole truth. The girl recognised you when she came up, we all saw it. You can’t deny that there’s something bigger going on here.”

Thomas chewed the inside of his cheek. Nothing else was spoken between them as he was led to the Pit. Gally opened the door and stepped back to allow room for Thomas to jump down. The door was secured, and Thomas stepped forwards, putting his hand on the slats.

“You know we can’t stay here forever,” he said softly, hoping he hadn’t irritated Gally further.

But Gally didn’t reply. Instead, he locked eyes with Thomas, a sense of unease behind them. Did he agree with Thomas? But it was too dark to tell. Gally stood, picked up his torch and strode away from Thomas, the light from the burning torch highlighting his outline into the distance until he was nothing more than a spot of darkness.

Thomas sat on the dug-out floor, back resting against the hard, dirt wall. The Pit was lonely with not another Glader in sight. Thomas could have closed his eyes and slept, but he was too awake – too much adrenaline coursing through his veins at the thought of Running the Maze the following morning. One night in the Pit, one night of punishment, then he would be free: free to explore, free to discover, free to find their way out.

It would feel good to rejoice in Gally’s disgust, to prove that he could do this job as well as anybody else, and he _deserved_ it.

That he could be _trusted_.

Minutes felt like hours as they passed in the dark, and Thomas was alone. He tried to envision the Maze with its skyscraper high stone walls, vines hanging like ropes from top to bottom, and pathways that could lead everywhere and anywhere. It screamed adventure, but it shrieked unpredictable.

Thomas was lost in thought until he heard footsteps approaching the Pit. There was torchlight, barely, and a tall figure behind it. Perhaps they only looked taller to Thomas considering he was almost a metre in the ground. Thomas wondered if it was Gally, back to prod answers out of him – answers he didn’t have. The figure sat down in front of the makeshift door, and Thomas identified the boy as Newt.

“Alright, Thomas?” He asked, accent smooth but voice rough. He held out his hand, passing a plate through the slats in the door. “Here, brought you something to eat. Can’t run on an empty stomach.”

Thomas pushed himself off the floor and took the plate from Newt, inhaling the divine smell of a freshly cooked meal. He sat back on the floor again but, this time, sightly closer to the light, and closer to Newt.

“Thanks, Newt,” he said as he took a chunk out of the pitta bread and stuffed it in his mouth. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know.” Newt smiled. “But I wanted to. Can’t have you passing out tomorrow from malnourishment. It would give Gally another reason to irk me for making you a Runner. And for putting my trust in you, I think.”

Thomas swallowed. “You trust me?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

There was a long silence filled by Thomas scoffing down his food. He tried to eat pleasantly but it was difficult when he was starved.

Newt sighed, putting his head in his hands, “look, Thomas. I understand why Gally is…apprehensive, but I also know that you’re our best hope right now. So, yes, I do trust you. Don’t make me doubt you, or my decision to make you a Runner.”

“I never got to thank you earlier.”

“You don’t need to. I think I did the right thing.”

“I think you did, too.”

Thomas caught the smile Newt gave him, and he returned it. It could have been the most reasonable response he had given since arriving at the Glade, and, undoubtably, the easiest.

“I never liked being in charge,” Newt said, surprising Thomas. “Nor bearing the title of second-in-command. It’s always been Alby who’s kept order, introduced the rules, and restored them when they were broken. I’ve just let them slip.”

“Maybe it’s for the better,” Thomas countered, which earned a perplexed look from Newt. He stood up and walked towards the door, forcing the blonde to look at him; “think of it; we retrieved that thing from inside the Griever. It gives us hope, Newt. We’re so close to getting out of here.”

Thomas gave the blonde an encouraging smile, placing a hand on his shoulder through the door and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“We just need to hold on a little longer.”

“A little longer.” Newt repeated, drawing breath slowly, allowing the words to settle in. After a few moments, Newt made to stand, and Thomas pulled back his hand, now absent from the soothing touch.

Newt dusted himself off where he stood before picking up the torch, turning once more to Thomas before he left.

“Get some sleep. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

Thomas watched as the blonde walked away, never looking back, his limp slowing him down slightly.

And Thomas realised, then, that he wished Newt hadn’t left.

**PRESENT**

_Somewhere across the ocean_

_“We just need to hold on a little longer,”_

He heard Thomas’ voice echo

In the stillness of his mind.

Just a little bit longer

And this would all be over.

Newt just had to

Hold on

A little bit longer.

But where?

Where were the handles

That he was supposed to grasp on to,

To stop himself from falling

Falling

Falling

Back into the

Abyss.

He had to get out of here,

Wherever here was.

Was it real?

Or all in his mind?

He had to get out of his head

That trapped him in endless memories

Of the life he thought

He once had.

But wasn’t that over?

Hadn’t he died?

Where was he?

Where was Newt?

He needed to know the answer,

So, when he woke up,

He looked at their name tags,

Those people in the white overcoats

Who pushed toxins into his body,

Then drained him of his blood

In a perpetual pattern

Of horror.

When he pried open his eyes

In the blinding white light

He saw one word:

WCKD.

And he knew then;

That they never fell

And, somewhere across the ocean,

Had to be Thomas.

Had to be his freedom.


	4. The Great Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biggest apologies for not updating sooner! I wasn't well last week and I'm up to my neck in college assignments.
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for it though. Thank you for your patience, enjoy!

“Keep going, I’m right behind you!” Gally yelled as he fired at the Cranks perusing them, bullets lodging in their decaying bodies.

The sound rung out, creating an echoing _bang_ that spread to every corner of the grocery store. Thomas flinched, the proximity of it too close. It penetrated through his already panting chest. He fought against his hands as they threatened to cover his ears. The gunfire, screeching Cranks, and his own heavy breathing were becoming too much for Thomas to handle.

He focussed on the truck; on pushing his limbs hard enough to close the distance. Minho was by his side, whipping his head around every few seconds to catch a glimpse of Gally. His breathing, Thomas noticed, was labouring, too.

“We’re almost there!” Thomas yelled. “Just a –”

_Little bit further._ His voice died in his throat as something collided into his shoulder, the force of it knocking him to the ground. Thomas tried to scramble to his feet, but a pair of hands were grabbing at his legs, holding him down, attempting to crawl on top of him.

Thomas twisted around, a frightened yelp escaping him as he came almost face-to-face with a Crank. His hands gripped the Cranks shoulders and wrestled against it. He tried to shove it off but the its weight was heavier than expected. Shock instilled in Thomas, rendering him paralyzed. He was petrified; unable to think, unable to move, unable to breathe.

His surroundings were closing in on him.

_There was a crash from behind. Thomas turned instantly, eyes landing on Newt who was pinned under a wailing Crank. His instincts took over; he raced towards Newt and, with all the strength he could muster, kicked the Crank off of the blonde. Panting, he reached down to grab Newt by the forearm and hoisted him to his feet._

_Newt patted Thomas’ chest with his free hand but his attention was directed towards the hoard of Cranks rapidly approaching them._

_“Thanks, Tommy,” he gasped, voice hoarse._

_Tommy. Newt had called him Tommy._

_Thomas was speechless. He opened his mouth to reply, to say something – anything – but not even a breath surpassed his lips. Newt was tugging on his arm, shifting his stricken gaze to their friends waiting for them ahead, hollering at them to run._

_“C’mon, Tommy,” Newt exclaimed. “We need to go!”_

_Thomas barely nodded before Newt was dragging him in a flat-out sprint through the abandoned shopping mall, eventually catching up to their friends._

_Everything happened so fast. Thomas’ headspace was clustered with Newt’s voice repeating the nickname over and over again; Tommy. It was soft on his lips, careful, laced with a rare sort of tenderness that only Newt expressed towards him._

_It buried its way into Thomas’ chest, a fluttering sensation spreading through his body. If he weren’t outrunning Cranks, he’d allow himself a decadent smile._

_In another life, maybe he’d grab Newt by the collar of his jacket and kiss him._

_But in this life, in this moment, Thomas ran, deprived of Newt’s comforting grasp as they barrelled towards safety._

_Wherever that may be._

Everything happened so fast.

Thomas was drowning in his cries under the weight of the Crank, his violently shaking hands ready to give out. He was half-aware; registering the closeness of the body but struggling to process his friends own presence. He couldn’t hear them, nor could he see them. He barely heard Minho as he yelled something inaudible, but Thomas knew to prepare himself for whatever was about to happen.

A gunshot went off, and the Crank’s body sagged. Thomas lay on his back, frozen. His ears were ringing and his vision blurred as he scanned the figures around him. They moved in slow motion as they knelt down next to Thomas, speaking in soft tones, and tried to coax him into standing.

The hoard was moving in, fast.

Minho clamped a hand around Thomas’ shoulder, and Brenda gently took Thomas’ hands in her own. Together, they pulled him to his feet. Jorge had his back turned to them, firing his pistol at the approaching Cranks, careful to avoid Gally who was backing up.

“Go!” Jorge shouted.

“Run, Thomas,” Minho breathed out, already pulling Thomas along by his wrist. Thomas forced his limbs to move at a pace similar to Minho’s, despite feeling as though he was about to topple over.

The gunfire stopped, and another set of heavy footsteps replaced it. Jorge and Gally were running now, focussed solely on making it back to the truck, on surviving.

They were on the final stretch. _Just a little bit further._

Thomas blinked back the sudden daylight blinding him as he sprinted through the open doors of the grocery store. The truck was there, right in front of him, and he’d never been so relieved to see the old, beat up motor.

Best not tell Jorge that, though.

Thomas skidded to a halt and opened the rear door, stepping back to allow Minho in first. He climbed in after, swinging the backpack off his shoulder and setting it at his feet. Brenda tore open the door to the driver’s seat, turning on the truck, ready to take off as Jorge and Gally raced towards them.

Thomas was screaming, “Don’t look back! Come on!” His voice was scratchy, devoid of any sound emitting from him. He squeezed in tighter next to Minho as Gally launched himself into the remaining backseat, slamming the door and throwing his gun and backpack to the ground. He sucked in deep breaths, putting his head in his hands and resting his elbows on his knees.

They barely noticed as Jorge occupied the passenger seat, they were too busy staring at the Cranks rushing towards the truck, their hands outstretched in attempt to break through the window and grab someone – anyone.

But Brenda put her foot down on the accelerator, and the car took off with a _whir_ and a skid.

“Turn left up here,” Jorge said, a quiver in his voice. “We’ll lead them away. Can’t have them following us back to the Safe Haven.”

The atmosphere in the truck was tense but silent. The only noise detectable was their panting as they fought to regain breath. Jaws were set in attempt not to cry, and hands were run through hair in shock, double-checking in disbelief that they were _alive_.

“If…” Gally started. “If we gathered enough people, we could go back. Think about it; one group to lead the Cranks away, and another to scavenge the store. We’re all thinking the same thing; it’s never been raided before. There’s bound to be hundreds of supplies that we could use.”

“You’re right,” came Thomas’ voice. He cleared his throat before speaking again, throat aching as he did so. “It’s dangerous, but it can be done.”

“When?”

Thomas paused, considering his answer. “I’d give it a few days. We need to rest, and I don’t want to ask any of you to go back out so soon.”

“We don’t have a few days though, hermano,” Jorge interjected. “There’s always the possibility of another group discovering the store first and putting a plan into place. What if they have cars? They could drive in the direction of the Safe Haven. What would we do then, if a group of people found us followed by a hoard of Cranks?”

“Can we discuss this later?” Brenda asked. “We need to rest, as Thomas said. We can gather the council tonight.”

Thomas nodded, his eyes meeting Brenda’s exhausted ones in the rear-view mirror. Nobody else spoke, a mutual agreement hanging in the air.

***

  
When they arrived back at the Safe Haven, Thomas and Minho deposited their findings of canned foods and pasta into the kitchens. Frypan greeted them with a friendly smile but, upon seeing their exhausted expressions, he furrowed his brows and the smile quickly vanished from his face.

“You guys okay?” He asked sincerely. “Do you want me to make you anything? I have a few leftovers from this morning.”

Thomas mustered a smile, “thanks, Fry, but we’re alright. The supply run went…unexpectedly.”

Frypan eyed him with suspicion. He opened his mouth to speak, but Minho bet him to it. “We’re holding a meeting with the council later.”

“Did something happen?” Questioned Frypan.

“We found a grocery store,” Thomas said, lowering his voice. “It’d never been raided, completely stocked up on everything we could possibly need. But there was a pack of Cranks – too many for us to take on ourselves.”

“So, you wanna go back?”

Thomas nodded, “we need more people, though.”

“And sleep,” Minho added, earning a huff of laughter from his friends.

“Go, get some rest. I’ll wake you for the meeting.” Frypan bid them goodbye and returned to his workstation, opening the backpacks full of food and began emptying them.

Thomas and Minho walked in silence to their cabin, a slight tension in the air.

_“When do we talk about it then, Thomas? You never talk about Newt. You detach yourself from us when his name is mentioned. He was my friend too. Did you ever think that maybe I wanted to talk about him?”_

_“We still have each other, and I’m not about to lose you too.”_

“I can’t lose you either, Minho,” Thomas whispered. He didn’t get the chance to reply earlier, realizing that, without Minho, he could have been mauled by the Crank that attacked him. “And I’m sorry for not talking about it – about Newt.”

Minho cast him a side glance. “It’s okay, Thomas, I get it.” There was a pause, a question still lingering in the air, one that Thomas had spent months pushing away, ignoring, pretending didn’t exist, because he didn’t know if he could handle the truth.

“Did you love him?”

And Thomas wanted to crack

Like a porcelain doll

And shatter into a million pieces.

So, he did. The tiny fragments held together only by glue crumbled all at once. They pierced his heart, scratching and clawing their way into it, ripping it apart and reopening festered wounds.

For six months he stitched the gashes carved by an ever-lasting blade in the shape of requited love. He washed the blood from his hands, cleaned every trace of Newt, but couldn’t dispose of the sensation of Newt’s blood drying on them. It was there when he made a fist, when he stretched his fingers, when he cracked his knuckles.

Newt was there when he lay in bed, restless. He was there when he closed his eyes, when he dreamt, when he woke. In a way, Thomas felt as though he never left. Sometimes, his hair would stick up on the back of his neck, and he’d turn sharply, eyes scanning for the blonde but never finding him.

He was there when he walked along the beach before sunrise, transcending from his nightmares into the patterns made by his footsteps. Thomas would watch alone from the log he was perched on as the waves crashed against the sand, drawing closer to his sunken footprints until they covered them, washed them away, until there was no trace of _himself_. And that’s when he knew he had to leave; return to his cabin, to his friends, to his reality.

Thomas didn’t want this feeling of entrapment. He didn’t want to break, nor be treated as though he was fragile. He didn’t want caution or bubble-wrap blanketing his body.

He wanted Newt and every ounce of feeling that came with him.

He wanted lingering touches in the dark, under constellations and moonlight.

He wanted Newt’s head resting upon his chest, fingers travelling the expanse of his body.

He wanted to risk the things they never did.

Because, yes; Thomas was in love with Newt.

So, he fell into Minho’s open arms, hands gripping at the boy’s shirt and face buried into the crook of his neck. He could never be Newt, but he was Minho – Thomas’ closest friend who had never deserted him, never given up on him.

And he cried for all of the things he did and didn’t do, and for the three words he was never brave enough to speak.

**BEFORE**

_The Glade_

The Section was closing:

The Blades were turning,

A metal drawbridge was plummeting,

The ground was turning up at their feet, revealing metallic spikes underneath,

And Thomas had barely survived it all, sliding out of a gap in a wall where it was sealing.

Minho lay on his back, taking deep breaths while staring up at the clear blue sky. However, Thomas was on his knees, his eyes squeezed shut and his head in his hands. He choked on a series of sobs, his breath coming out in wheezes.

He couldn’t focus, couldn’t stop his mind from replaying the echoing creeks of the Blades whirring to a close or the unexpected rumble of the ground lifting beneath his feet, nor the reverberation of the drawbridge slamming loudly behind them as they barely avoided being squashed like bugs. He couldn’t stop the sheer panic from spreading through his body.

“Thomas,” Minho’s voice was muffled. “Thomas, hey, what’s wrong?”

Thomas needed him to stop talking, to back away, but the words kept getting caught in his throat and replaced with loud whimpers instead. He refused to scamper, running away would probably get him lost and in the Maze, he would definitely be stranded without Minho.

“What can I do?” Minho asked calmly.

Though he still couldn’t answer, Thomas lifted a hand and shood Minho, indicating that he needed more space. He felt trapped, like chains were tightened around his ankles and bolted to the floor.

He felt the area around him clear. The air became less stuffy.

“Breathe, Thomas.” Everything sounded as though it was underwater. Was he underwater? No. No, he’d be drowning if he were underwater. The icy liquid would staple his clothes to his body uncomfortably.

“I need you to take a deep breath.”

And Thomas tried; he heaved in a deep a breath as he possibly could but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. His lungs were capsizing, his chest taught, and the knot tied in his throat blocked his airways.

He was overheating now; sunlight beaming down on him, causing his back to drench in sweat. He felt lightheaded and dizzy, and he absolutely refused to open his eyes.

“Drink some water.” Minho slowly reached a hand out but didn’t press the container into Thomas’ hands. He waited for him to outstretch his own and take it. It took him a minute to do so and eventually he cupped the pouch in his hands and brought it to his lips, tilting his head up slightly.

He risked cracking his eyes open, squinting in the sudden brightness. His attention snagged on Minho, who was sitting before him though not too close, still giving Thomas his space. Thomas had managed to sip at the water, the coolness of it extinguishing the fire in his chest and untying the knot in his throat.

Minho instructed him to breathe again, and Thomas did so, his eyes locking on to his friends for comfort. He inhaled deeply, feeling his breathing evening out, slowing considerably, but the sensitivity in his body and hearing remained.

“Talk to me, Thomas,” Minho said once Thomas’ breathing was steady. “Take your time.”

“Overwhelmed,” Thomas whispered through an exhale. “Sounds.”

“Okay,” Minho nodded. “Loud noises. Anything else?”

“Sometimes things _feel_ wrong. People too close to me, not enough space. Flickering or bright lights.”

“When you came up in the box-”

“It was too much.”

There was a long pause between them. Minho was working his jaw and Thomas was focussed on remaining calm. He still felt restless, fingers curling every few seconds in frustration.

“I’m sorry, Thomas. I wouldn’t have brought you into the Maze if I knew-”

“No,” Thomas interrupted. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know this would happen.”

Another silence hit them. Minho pushed himself to his feet and Thomas watched his every move. He offered his hand, but Thomas shook his head, not ready for physical contact yet, and forced himself to stand on wobbly legs.

“We need to get back to the Glade, tell them what we’ve found. Let’s just walk, we have plenty of time before the Doors shut.”

Thomas was grateful for Minho’s understanding. They only conversed when Minho had to direct them through the Maze, the boy clearly worried he would overwhelm or startle Thomas. The Runner pointed out significant markers that he used to indicate where they were in the Maze, whether it be a crack in the wall or the number of vines hanging from above.

“Just in case there comes a day where I can’t run, I’ll feel better knowing you won’t get your Shank ass lost.”

***

They were bombarded by questions are they returned to the Glade.

“What’s going on out there?” Newt asked, voice cracking.

“What have you done now, Thomas?” Gally demanded, a twinge of anger in his voice.

Thomas flinched at the outburst. He wasn’t prepared to answer any of their questions, not yet. Recognising his lack of cooperation, Minho stepped in; “we found a new passage. We think it could be a way out.”

Newt was stunned, his gaze shifting between Minho and Thomas. “Really? Thomas, is this true?”

Thomas stiffly nodded his head in response.

“We opened a door, something I’ve never seen before. I think it’s where the Grievers go during the day,” Minho interjected once again.

“So, you want us to go into the Grievers home?” Chuck pieced together the rest of the puzzle.

“Are we really considering this? Another one of Thomas’ ludicrous plans?” Gally asked heatedly. He pushed towards them; his closeness uncomfortable. The taller boy clamped a hand on Thomas’ shoulder in attempt to spin him around, but the contact caused Thomas to recoil harshly.

He jerked away, and Minho hastily stepped between him and Gally.

“Back off.” He threw his arms out in front of him, signaling for Gally to retreat. “Nobody was considering anything.” There was a pause as they glared at one another. “It’s not just Thomas’ idea, it never was. Right from the start, it was our goal to find our way out of here and now we have that chance.”

“Or we have a death sentence,” Gally bit back. “None of you know what you’re doing.”

“Then what do you suggest we do, Gally?” Thomas barked. The cogs in his brain were spinning, and words flowed out of his mouth like film reel. “Do you want to run the Maze? Try and find another answer? We don’t know if we have time for that. Supplies are gonna dwindle, and we’ll be no better than dead.”

Without another word, he turned his back and stormed off in the direction of his hammock. He concentrated on the oxygen circulating in and out of his lungs. He was aware of the arguing unfolding in the background but he refused to partake in challenging Gally further, knowing it would result in providing him with more reasons to hate Thomas, and perhaps for the remainder of the Gladers to do so, too.

Thomas tore off his backpack holster, dropping it on the ground beside the hammock. He peeled his t-shirt from his body, reveling in the cool breeze that kissed his skin, and replaced it with a clean one.

“Thomas,” a voice called from behind. Newt was half-walking-half-jogging towards him, momentarily slowed down by his limp. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Thomas rasped. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Newt gave him a quizzical look, eyes roaming Thomas’ tense figure. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “But it’s not my place to ask questions.”

Thomas lowered himself into his hammock, shuffling to get as comfortable as possible. His eyes snagged on Newt as he crouched down and planted himself on the grass. The blonde reclined himself so he was lying on the ground instead, propping an arm under his head.

“What are you doing?” Thomas asked, a microscopic smile finding its way on his lips.

“Staying here with you,” Newt replied easily. “Unless you’d rather be alone.”

“No.” Thomas’ eyes found Newt’s, and he vanished into the tranquility of them. It was easy to lose himself in something so placid – in someone so humane. “Stay.”

And Newt gazed dreamily at Thomas as the brunette closed his eyes, abandoning his fears and reveling in the comfort that was Newt, his friend, wishing he could stay in this moment until the end of time.

**PRESENT**

_Somewhere across the ocean_

His nap was disturbed by a knock

Then another

And another.

A plastic tray was slid through

the letterbox gap in the door

And Newt forced himself

To stand and take the tray

Before his legs collapsed.

He was awake

But only for a limited amount of time

So, he put his plan into place;

The one he envisioned when he was dreaming,

Remembering,

Creating.

The cutlery could unscrew the bolts

In the vent underneath his bed.

There would be no guards for another few minutes

(The same as every day, like clockwork)

So, he crawled on his front,

Ribs protruding through his flesh

And scraping along the floor.

Or, at least, that’s how it felt

Because he knew all of his bones were in his body

Where they were supposed to be.

His hands convulsed as he raised the knife

To the first screw,

Placing the tip in the centre

And twisted.

It slipped out

On his first attempt

But he tried again

And the screw came loose,

Popped out,

And rattled on the floor.

Newt listened out for footsteps,

Guards with guns who would tase him into weakness,

Unconsciousness,

But he heard nothing,

And continued.

His bony fingers slithered into the gaps in the grate

And tilted it so it sat at an angle,

Easy to access,

But not visible from the doorway.

He smiled to himself

Deviously

And wriggled back out from under the bed

Forcing a bit of food into his mouth

To hide the notion of victory.

It didn’t matter when the guards and scientists came for him

Because they couldn’t see what he’d done.

They would never assume that Newt

Could have the strength

To outplay them,

Outsmart them,

At their own game.

And though he was submerged into a hazy sleep

Where his demons surfaced and taunted him

And memories

Real,

Bitter,

And eerie

Played like a broken record,

Newt couldn’t dispose of the feeling,

The knowledge,

That tonight

He was going to escape.

Tonight

He would be free.


	5. Out Of Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which the word 'promise' is used more than ten times.
> 
> Again, apologies for the late update but I hope 6,000 words makes up for it :)

Thomas fell asleep with Minho’s arms wrapped around him. He’d burned himself into exhaustion from crying, the tears cascading down his cheeks like heavy rainfall. His throat still ached from their supply run and, as expected, his breakdown had only worsened it.

He was groggy as he woke, eyelids heavy and voice scratched. His back was pressed against Minho’s chest and he was both too comfy to move and too scared to wake his sleeping friend. He lay there, enclosed in warmth, and fighting off every sudden memory of the aforementioned breakdown.

If Minho hadn’t stirred awake at that precise moment, Thomas would have been buried under the rubble of unwanted recollections as they crashed into him.

“Hey,” Minho whispered. “You alright?”  
  


Thomas opened his mouth to reply but instantly decided against it, knowing it would damage his voice further. Instead, he gave a gentle nod.

“I know you won’t want to talk about it right now,” began Minho, carefully choosing his next words, “but I think we should. Later, I mean. After the council meeting.”

The council meeting…which Thomas had forgotten about. He wanted to sarcastically thank Minho for reminding him but an abrupt knock on the cabin door interrupted him.

Minho grumbled a “come in,” keeping his voice low. Frypan entered, half hiding himself behind the door. Neither Thomas or Minho moved; their friends had found them asleep together on numerous occasions and, thankfully, they were mature enough not to pipe up with a disparaging remark. Not that they thought anything of it, anyway – they understood that Thomas needed comfort most nights and Minho was the most apt to give it to him.

It was hard to imagine Gally sharing his bed with anyone else, let alone permit Thomas to nestle himself into an awkward embrace.

“The meeting’s starting in five,” Frypan said. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just water please, Fry,” Minho said.

Frypan nodded, “sure, I’ll meet you in the Council Hall.”  
  
Their Council Hall was much like the one they’d had in the Glade, but this time it featured a large, circular table and wooden chairs. Thomas stepped down from his role as leader when they arrived at the Safe Haven and put Vince in his place instead. Second-in-command hadn’t felt like an appropriate title, either, so he passed that one to Minho, and settled for third-in-command (if there was such a thing).

Thomas was still widely respected by the residents at the Safe Haven. He couldn’t completely disappear from authority, knowing it would make him look apathetic in a ‘well-I’ve-got-you-this-far-that’s-my-job-done’ sort of way. So, he stayed, edged to the side slightly but not enough to paint him as powerless.

He could be intimidating if he tried.

“We have to get up,” Minho spoke from behind, his breath ghosting the back of Thomas’ neck.

Thomas pushed himself up, rubbing the sleep his eyes with the heel of his hand. Minho followed suit, positioning himself beside Thomas, playfully knocking his shoulders against the shorter boy in attempt to crack a smile.

He was rewarded with a tired grin and a huff. They laced their shoes in silence, and Thomas pulled on his jacket, feeling a chill in the air as the day was drawing to a close. Time hadn’t existed for years, nor had dates or days, really, but they could estimate by the sun and the weather. Cold weather and days with limited sunlight equalled winter, which was what they were entering, judging by the waning daylight of recent.

“Ready?” Minho asked gingerly.

Thomas nodded, working his jaw as he prepared his words. “I want to talk about him,” he said, his voice hoarse and painful. “And you deserve to, as well. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to realise that.”

“I think you’ve known for a while,” Minho replied affably. “But you know I’d never force you to talk about something that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I was unfair, though. After all you’ve done for me, the least I could have done was acknowledge your grief, too. I shouldn’t have ignored this – any of it.”

Minho sighed and placed a comforting hand on Thomas’s knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I forgive you, Thomas. I’ll always forgive you.”

Thomas angled his head to look at his friend, who met his gaze. “Promise?” Thomas whispered.

“I promise,” Minho responded, voice at a similar level. “As long as you promise to talk to me later.”

Thomas felt the corners of his lips turn upwards. “I promise.”

Minho withdrew the hand that rested upon Thomas’ leg and stood, the brunette following after.

“One more thing,” Minho said with a chuckle. “maybe avoid speaking when you can. Your voice sounds like shit.”

***

Thomas’ voice did indeed sound like shit.

The squabble of the Council hall hadn’t died down and Thomas didn’t want to risk raising his voice to quieten the other nine people in the room. He sat back, sipping his water, eyes shifting between people as though watching a tennis match. Eventually, his gaze met Minho’s exasperated one, his friend silently pleading for him to step in.

Thomas, however, motioned to his throat and gave him an apologetic ‘you’re-on-your-own’ look.

As if sensing the conversation between them, Gally raised his voice, yelling a loud “Quiet!” over the bickering.

Harriet was in a frenzy; “what you’re asking of us is crazy. We’d be putting too many people at risk.”

“Then stay here,” Minho bit back. “We’re not asking _you_ specifically to come with us, but this plan _is_ going ahead, otherwise we could be losing valuable materials.”

“And what if there are others? Humans? What if they try to hurt you?”

An elongated silence swarmed the room.

“Then we’ll deal with them,” Gally said, and all eyes turned to him. He raised a hand as Harriet opened her mouth. “And no, I don’t know how we’ll do that. If our safety is threatened…”

He trailed off.

“It’s our best shot,” Vince said, breaking the tension. “We need as many supplies as we can get. It’s not the worst plan I’ve ever heard.” His eyes flickered towards Thomas. “But right now, it’s our only one.”

Harriet scoffed and cross her arms over her chest. “There must be something else.” Her eyes swept across to Thomas, who shrunk back as her gaze hardened. “Thomas? You’ve been surprisingly quiet. What do you think?”

“He’s lost his voice,” Minho said, which earned him a challenging stare from Harriet.

“I think,” Thomas said carefully, stumbling over the gravel lodged in his throat. “Vince is right. We don’t have another option, and we’d need to go soon. Tomorrow, preferably.”

Another outburst occurred from the Council.

“With a last-minute plan in place rather than one that’s been thought out, developed, and had every possible outcome assessed? Absolutely not.” Harriet was fuming now. “I trust you, Thomas, but this time I won’t place anybody under your leadership.”

“And I’m not asking you to,” Thomas said gently. “Nobody is. It’s your decision, Harriet, and if you decide not to come with us then you can take temporary charge of the Safe Haven.”

She nodded, gaze softening slightly. “I’ll think it over. I’m not ruling myself out immediately, just my people.”

“I agree with her. Some of the kids aren’t ready yet – they’re not fully trained and some are too young. There are a small handful of people, though, who may be assets,” spoke Gally.

Harriet and Gally were two of the strongest fighters in the Safe Haven. They were in charge of the weaponry and training newcomers, like the kids they rescued from WCKD, and anyone else who proved trustworthy upon entering their group. The latter was rare, considering they hadn’t welcomed many strangers in the last six months.

Thomas was reluctant to allow outsiders into their community. There were too many dangers – too many uncertainties. Everything could go wrong within a matter of minutes.

“Okay,” Vince said. “I think we’ve come to a conclusion, then.” He examined the room, catching the eyes of each council member. “Raise your hand if you want to be involved in the plan going ahead tomorrow.”

Thomas raised his hand first, followed by Minho, then Gally and, at the same time, Frypan, Jorge, Brenda and Aris. Harriet wavered her hand in an undecided motion, and Sonya shook her head.

Sonya hadn’t felt comfortable leaping into situations since her capture by WCKD at the Right Arm’s camp, the night Teresa betrayed them.

Teresa was allowed into some council meetings, but was not considered a member due to her history with the group. Thomas let her sit in, though, where she and her department of medical care were concerned. Although Thomas was hesitant to bestow her with a leading job title, she was one of the most experienced Healers in the Safe Haven, and Thomas trusted her enough not to kill anyone under her care.

She’d be informed of group excursions so that she could prepare to aid anyone who returned injured, and not once had she failed at her job. But, then again, her experience came from working alongside WCKD.

“Gally,” Vince spoke. “How many of your trainees do you reckon will join us?”

Gally bit the inside of his cheek, a sign that he was mentally counting an approximate number of people. “Eight at the most, although I doubt all of them will be willing.”

“So, that’ll make sixteen of us including Harriet if she changes her mind. Four trucks; Jorge, Frypan, Gally and myself will take one each. We’ll assemble the groups later, but does anyone absolutely _not_ want to ride in the one leading the Cranks away from the grocery store?”

When nobody answered, Vince continued. “We’ll have our walkies. When the Cranks are lead far enough away – but not so far that we lose you – alert us and we’ll confirm if the store is secure. If we run into survivors, we’ll let you know. Under no circumstance will you turn back if they pose as a threat.

“If all goes to plan, we’ll scavenge the store in groups. Find containers to carry items in, preferably large boxes that can bear heavy weights without breaking. We do it fast; no messing, and no distractions.”

Vince could be scarily demanding at times, an authentic authoritative tone to his voice, but everybody knew that it was all because he _cared_. Hassle didn’t bode well with him; when there was a plan, it had to be executed quickly and competently.

Thankfully, though, there had only been once occasion in which they’d risked a high-stake mission and had barely got out of it alive, adorned with only minor cuts and scrapes.

“That concludes the meeting, then,” Vince finished. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow at dawn.”

Harriet was the first to walk out, Sonya and Aris on her tail. She needed time to cool off and think things over. Thomas didn’t want to approach her, knowing it would anger her further, but they needed her on the mission. She had an excellent scope and carried the ability to render someone defenceless in half a second. Harriet was merciless – sometimes a little too much – but she was headstrong and defiant. Their team was incomplete without her.

“I’ll see which of my trainees want to embark on this…trip,” Gally hesitated. “No promises, though.”

Thomas nodded. “No pressure, Gally, but the more you can convince, the better.”

Gally smirked. “Always the optimist, aren’t you, Thomas?” Thomas felt his cheek twitch as the corner of his lip stretched up for a split-second, only noticeable to those looking. “I’ll do my best.”

“Is there anything Brenda and I can do?” Jorge asked.

Thomas was flattered by their enthusiasm but he wasn’t the person to ask. “You could prepare the backpacks for tomorrow. Sixteen at least, although if Harriet doesn’t join us and some trainees back out, we won’t need them. But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

He directed his attention towards Frypan; “If you get a chance, can you scour the kitchens for a few snacks? We don’t know how long we’ll be gone for, so it might be best to take food for energy. Can’t have people starving.”

“Anything for you, majesty,” Frypan said as he bowed. This earned a chuckle from the remainder of the group. “I’ll have a look for anything sustainable and leave it out for collection in the morning.”

“Jorge and I can pick it up,” Brenda offered. Thomas nodded upon exiting the Council Hall, Frypan holding the door open like a gentleman. They departed in their own directions, and Thomas was left alone with Minho.

He wasn’t complaining, definitely not, but the time had come for their dreaded talk.

Thomas heart hammered as they strolled along the beach, sand crunching underneath their shoes and Thomas regretted leaving them on. It was too late to stop, though, seeing as they were almost at the lone log. Thomas liked the log; it was far enough from civilisation without being too far from his friends, where the Safe Haven was still visible but unable to interrupt his stream of thoughts.

“Thank you for making me do this,” Thomas said weakly as they sat, watching the tide as it retracted.

Minho shrugged. “Don’t thank me, you made a promise.”

_“Don’t forget me, Tommy,” Newt whispered, his voice shaking. “Promise you won’t forget me.”_

And Thomas never broke his promises.

**BEFORE**

_The Glade_

“Thomas, get them out.”

He was snatched from his grasp.

Thomas stood, shaking, staring at the space Alby had occupied mere seconds ago. Hands gripped his forearms, holding on for dear life, but the metal claw clamped around his torso was stronger.

Alby was gone.

Dead.

And Thomas couldn’t move.

Couldn’t _breathe_.

_“Get them out.”_

The words rung in his ears.

“Thomas?” A voice, gentle, calm. Accented. “Thomas?”

Thomas jerked his neck in the direction of Newt. He was beside him, a hand reaching out to steady the brunette. His legs trembled with such intensity he thought he’d falter. As a reflex, Thomas pushed away from Newt – from everybody clustering him – and scampered outside, despite the protests echoed by his friends.

The Glade was blanketed in fire and chaos. Smoke rose from the fallen, burning structures. Destruction wreaked in every corner of the Glade, whether it be bodies strewn or buildings demolished. Thomas was unsure if they could be called buildings – they were more like huts – but they had been hand-built and it was their home.

With an emphasis on _was_.

Three tall, stalky figured emerged from the smoke, marching towards Thomas with no intention of stopping.

“Gally-” But Thomas was cut off as the taller boy landed a punch so vigorous to his jaw it sent him to the floor.

Thomas’ groan was muffled by a chorus of clamouring as Gally was restrained.

“This is all you, Thomas!” He roared. “You heard what Ably said; he’s one of them, and they sent him here to destroy everything. And now he has. Look around, Thomas. Look around! This is _your_ _fault_!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Calm down.”

“Back off, Gally.”

A swarm of voices spoke at once.

Teresa supported Thomas as he rose to his feet.

Gally’s outburst sunk into him; maybe this _was_ his fault. He watched in disbelief as Gally fought to pursue him but was subdued by Newt, Minho, Frypan and Winston. They seized his wrists, shoving against his chest when he attempted to lunge.

The tumult suppressed as Thomas slowly drew the Griever’s Stinger from Chuck’s small hands, the world a haze as he debated the choice laid out before him.

“Maybe he’s right.”

“Thomas…” came Teresa’s concerned voice.

“I need to remember.”

“Thomas?” She was scared. Without hesitation, Thomas lifted the Stinger and drove it into his stomach, releasing a pained scream as the sharp needle protruded through his skin. “Thomas!”

He collapsed to the ground once more, barely conscious as his friends broke away from Gally and huddled around him, hollering his name.

“Hey.” Thomas heard Newt’s voice, though it was distant. Before his eyes rolled back into his head, Thomas was confounded by Newt’s own deep brown orbs.

And he was lulled into darkness.

_Blue and white hues blinded him. Waves of light split his skull like a headache. Masked faces hovered above him, passing sharp, silver tools, talking though Thomas couldn’t understand their words._

_“Wicked is good.”_

_He sat at a desk with a transparent screen obscuring his view of the girl, Teresa._

_To his left sat another boy; small, bony and blonde. His eyes flickered towards him, but the blonde shied away. Thomas tilted his head, too young to comprehend that he was intimidating the smaller boy._

_“I’m Thomas,” he said. “That’s what they called me, anyway.”_

_This caught his interest, and ever so slowly, the blonde peeked at Thomas. “I’m Newt.”_

_“Boys,” an older woman tutted. “Back to work.”_

_Thomas and Newt exchanged a mischievous smile before returning to their screens, their grins plastered to them for the rest of the day._

_The scene changed again. The same room, but this time his view was from a taller angle. He was older. Nine, perhaps. Newt was still to his left. They were giddy from their lunch break, unable to focus and earning frustrated sighs from Ava Paige._

_“Thomas,” she warned. “Don’t make me separate you.”_

_Thomas tensed. “Sorry, Miss Paige,” he apologised, but the woman simply smiled._

_“I could never,” she admitted._

_Images blurred together. Thomas and Newt were confined to their rooms, only a few minutes from curfew. They were sat on Thomas’ bedroom floor, jigsaw pieces scattered around them, giggling wildly as they kept placing pieces in the wrong area of the puzzle._

_Ava Paige observed, amused, from the other side of the two-way-mirror. She was fond, particularly, of Thomas, who scored highest on every test, but couldn’t fathom why he was struggling with a simple jigsaw. It was humour, she realised, as she heard their laughter and saw smiles so wide, she thought they’d hurt their cheeks._

_Everything and anything could amuse a child._

_It pained her when she had to call for their curfew and upon seeing their smiles convert into frowns, she almost felt guilty._

_It was Newt’s tenth birthday next, and Thomas was eager for him to blow out the candles on his cake. WCKD never missed their birthdays; they always provided a cake, a few small presents and an early finish on their working day._

_Probably to reinforce the idea that they were good, that they were giving them luxuries others couldn’t indulge in anymore. Reminding them that they should be grateful. But, of course, it would never occur to ten-year-old children that they were a means to an end, that they were taken from their parents for one purpose._

_Thomas placed a box neatly wrapped in blue paper in front of Newt, pushing it towards him. The blonde smiled, ecstatic, and tore it open to reveal a jigsaw. He jumped out of his seat and encased Thomas in an appreciative hug._

_The brunette laughed as he snaked his arms around Newt. He adored his hugs, never wanting them to end and always smiling when he was lucky enough to receive one. He loved seeing Newt happy, he loved making him happy, and this, he thought, would be a moment he’d cherish forever._

_Twelve years old was when Newt began to sprout, inching taller than Thomas every day. He’d feign hurt and beg for Newt to stop growing, but would revel in delight as he realised that he was finally surpassing than Teresa._

_“It’s almost complete,” Ava announced, capturing the attention of the young children circled around the desks._

_Newt looked distressed. He chewed on his lip, worry etching across his brow and his eyes scurrying around his screen. “I don’t want to do this,” he whispered to Thomas when Ava disappeared. “I don’t…”_

_He drew in a short breath and squeezed his eyes shut. When he covered his face with his hands, Thomas crouched beside him and placidly lifted his own hands to the blonde’s. He caressed his thumbs over his cheekbones, his heart lurching when his thumbs came away wet with tears._

_“Don’t cry, Newt,” Thomas pleaded. “Please don’t cry. It’s going to be okay.”_

_“How can you say that?” Newt choked through his tears. “How do you know that it’s going to be okay?”_

_Thomas repositioned himself on his knees but never tearing his eyes away from his friend. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I’d never lie to you. Never. Whatever happens, I’ll protect you. I promise.”_

_“But you can’t promise that, Tommy.”_

_Seeing Newt distraught made Thomas want to cry. Sometimes, he did. A sympathy cry, they called it._

_When Newt was happy, he was happy. But when Newt was sad, Thomas was furious at the things upsetting him, wishing they were tangible so he could crush them in his hands. He wanted to remove all of the evil and suffering, and cast them into a place they couldn’t crawl their way out of._

_“We’ll figure it out.” Thomas was holding back his own threatening tears. “Together, like we always do.”_

_“Together.” Newt repeated. He slid his hands out from underneath Thomas and rested them on the brunette’s wrists. He pulled Thomas closer to him and, in a heartbeat, wrapped his arms around his best friend in a hug._

_It was another moment Thomas wished he could stay engulfed in for all eternity._

_Another image rolled around like cogs turning in a machine._

_They were fourteen, in the early stages of their adolescence._

_And they were too young to have completed a fully functioning Maze that doubled as a trial, one that could kill them if they were too ambitious, too reckless, or too weak._

_Newt was shivering. His stomach roiled and his heart was thumping so aggressively he thought it would burst through his chest. Today was the day; they were going to send the first boy up into the Maze._

_“Thomas,” Ava Paige called. “Come with me.”_

_Thomas was led away by the Chancellor. He craned his neck to look at Newt, who, judging by the way he was biting his nails, was nervous. Their eyes found each other’s’, Newt’s having to lift up slightly due to his bowed head, and Thomas was immediately filled with sorrow._

_He wanted to sprint back to him and bury the blonde’s face in his neck, stroking a hand through his fluffy hair while reassuring him – doing anything within his power to calm him._

_“You get to choose,” Ava said gently._

_“But what if I don’t want to?” Thomas asked, eyes scanning the board of pictures with faces he knew; people he’d known since childhood, people he grew up with. People he’d spent every day with and, one by one, they were going to forget him._

_“I’m afraid that’s not an option. You’ve always been our best, Thomas, and this is your reward.”_

_“This isn’t a reward. This is…this is torture. It’s inhumane.”_

_“It’ll get easier over time. But for now, pick our first test subject.”_

_Test subject. Thomas winced at the words. They were his friends, not an experiment._

_He studied the pictures staring down at them, disdain laced with terror in his friend’s eyes, an expression of ‘don’t-pick-me-please-not-me’ was embedded in them, and Thomas was filled with remorse. It was the wrong thing to do, he knew it, but he pointed his finger and spoke a name; “Alby.”_

_“Well done, Thomas. Excellent choice.”_

_Thomas turned on his heel. A single tear raced down his cheek as he sped-walked back to Newt. He had to tell him before anyone else did, and before he saw Alby’s unconscious body being wheeled away on an operating table._

_He crossed the room where Newt was still anxiously waiting. He approached him cautiously, his breath catching in his throat as he attempted to speak._

_“Newt-” Thomas spoke at the same time Newt said “Tommy, what’s wrong?”_

_“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He was stumbling over his words, chest tightening with every passing second. “I had no choice. She made me do it.”_

_“Do what, Tommy? What did Ava make you do?” Though Newt was trying to hide it, Thomas could sense the underlying panic in his voice._

_“Alby,” Thomas whispered, a cry surfacing at the back of his throat._

_Newt jolted back, confused and angry. “What have you done?”_

_‘What have you done’, not ‘what did she make you do?’_

_“I’m sorry,” Thomas repeated. He tried to take a step forwards, but it only resulted in Newt taking another step back. The rejection felt like a stab in Thomas’ heart. He needed Newt to stop and listen. He needed to be forgiven, however he knew that wouldn’t come easily from the blonde, not now, especially after sending one of his closest friends into the Maze where he’d spend a month alone while prying eyes monitored him every second of his life going forwards._

_Including Newt, for as long as he remained at the facility._

_The procedure began not long after. It didn’t take long; just one quick memory swipe, then he was lowered into the mechanism that was known as the Box. Newt couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screens, surveillance footage playing directly into them as the Box elevated at a rapid speed._

_Newt hadn’t uttered a word to Thomas for almost an hour, his fury consuming him in a dangerous explosive that was bound to detonate. And, when it did, the shrapnel would take everyone with him._

_He confined himself to his room, taking the ticking time bomb with him, and Thomas was stupid enough to follow. He would go to the ends the Earth for Newt, even if it meant risking his life, even if it meant never coming back._

_But he’d always find his way back – he’d always find his way back to Newt._

_Thomas rapped his knuckles on the door before slowly pushing it open. Newt was curled up on his bed, sobbing into the pillow stuffed under his head. His back was facing Thomas._

_“Go away,” Newt said hoarsely, but Thomas held his ground. Part of him was too paralyzed to move, the sight of his friend shocking him into stillness. “Leave!” Newt screamed. Thomas was adamant he’d stay._

_He’d never seen Newt so enraged as he leapt to his feet, striding menacingly towards Thomas, stopping inches from his face. Thomas was riddled with sudden shame, knowing that what he was doing was overstepping his bounds._

_“Leave, Thomas!” Newt bit out. He towered over him slightly, seething as Thomas repeatedly ignored his demands. “You’re infuriating.”_

_“I’m sorry, Newt,” Thomas tried again. Heat radiated from Newt, or perhaps Thomas was flustered. He’d never been this close to Newt – practically pressed against him – the tips of their noses almost touching._

_“You made a promise.” Newt’s voice cracked. He sounded broken. “You said it would all be okay. You said you’d protect me, that we’d figure it out. This isn’t that.”_

_“Tell me what to do,” Thomas whispered. “Because I don’t know…I don’t know how…I can’t stop this.”_

_“Stay.” Newt’s crying had far from stopped. His hands cupped Thomas’ pale face. “Don’t leave me.”_

_“Never.”_

_Thomas held Newt in a tight embrace as he howled, occasionally spluttering over a pained sob which hadn’t quite escaped his throat. Thomas shushed him, uttered gentle, meaningless words that, combing his fingers through Newt’s soft, blonde hair. They had dropped to their knees amidst the tears, though Thomas couldn’t remember exactly when, and Newt had half clambered on to his lap._

_The bomb had ruptured and its earth-shattering damage lodged itself in Thomas’ heart._

_Amongst the debris lay another memory._

_Alby had been in the Maze by himself for a month and the time had come to send up another boy to join him. Yet again, Thomas was tasked with choosing the next contender. He’d battled with his thoughts for a month, witnessing Newt deteriorate into a state of depression and isolation, and he knew what he had to do, as excruciating as it would be._

_“Newt,” he told Ava Paige, words emotionless. “Send Newt up. But give me time to say goodbye.” He faced her, eyes brimming with tears as he begged, “please.”_

_Seconds later he’d found himself darting towards Newt’s bedroom as fast as his legs would take him. He burst through the door, startling the blonde awake from one of his many naps._

_“We don’t have long,” Thomas said. “I need you to listen to me.”_

_Newt cocked his head and furrowed his brows, but nevertheless patted the vacant space on his bed next to him, where Thomas had spent most nights soothing him, holding the blonde with strong arms as he nuzzled his face in the crook of his neck._

_“Please don’t be mad,” he began, fighting to keep his voice even. “I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself – I won’t. And as our friends go up to the Maze, one by one, I know it’ll hurt more each time and it’ll never get easier._

_“I can’t keep you around for my sake, and I can’t force you to watch them as they forget who they are…who we are. I know I said we’d do this together, but our together has to wait.”_

_“Tommy…” Newt’s breath hitched._

_“This is the time that we have left. This is the time that I can give you before you forget me.” His hand gripped Newt’s, threading their fingers together. He was crying now, indefinitely. Waterfalls shaped as tears flooded his face, dripping from his chin and splashing on their entwined hands._

_“I’m sorry, Newt.” He hiccupped. “I’m sorry that there was no other option. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise. I’m sorry that I…”_

_Newt’s hand found the sharp edge of Thomas’ jawline where he stroked his thumb. “I’m sorry, too.”_

_Nothing more needed to be said. There would never be such a thing as a perfect goodbye, but if there was then this would be it. Newt’s hand slid to the back of Thomas’ neck, a slight pressure to his touch, where he was pulling Thomas towards him. Their faces were scarcely an inch apart, their breaths ghosting the others lips, tears absorbing together, uniting them as one._

_Thomas didn’t know who moved first, but the gap between them was bridged. Their lips pressed together, gentle but messy. The tears flowed impossibly faster, the taste of salt lingering on their tongues. But one kiss wasn’t enough; as soon as they parted, Thomas pulled Newt back in, this time with more purpose. It wasn’t a first kiss where they embarked on unfamiliar territory in a relationship they’d yet to experience. It was a first kiss that solidified their goodbye – their disastrously perfect goodbye – and one that Thomas would never forget but, in less than an hour, Newt would._

_Time was running out, and Thomas was drowning._

_Seventeen, and his patience had worn thin._

_“I can’t keep watching them, Teresa.”_

_“You mean, you can’t keep watching_ him _.”_

_Newt._

_Thomas gnawed on his lower lip. Teresa was right; he couldn’t keep watching Newt suffer, and that’s why he did it. Though, what he_ did _was foggy. The memory was there, almost within his reach, but his arms didn’t stretch long enough for him to grab it. It slid through his fingers like thread._

_“We did this to help them,” Teresa said. “And now they understand.”_

_“But when will it end?”_

_Teresa didn’t answer, so Thomas continued; “when will they bring them back? When will all of this be worth it?”_

_“When we find a cure.” ‘We’. Always ‘we.’_

_“But that might not be for years.”_

_“Then you have your answer.”_

_“I’m getting them out of there. I’m getting_ us _out of here.”_

Thomas squinted as he opened his eyes. He was lying on the hard ground; small, jagged rocks digging into his back, but his head was resting on something soft. Teresa hovered above him as he looked up.

“Hey,” Teresa said. “How are you feeling?”

He winced as he pushed himself up, a hand immediately pressing against his stomach where his injury was. Or, where it should have been. There was no blood, just a humming pain rooted in his abdomen.

“What happened?” He asked weakly.

“You stung yourself,” Newt said, alerting Thomas of his presence. His eyes snapped up, and he hurriedly stood on numb legs. He stumbled forwards but caught himself on the door.

A door that Thomas knew too well; he was in the Pit. His hands gripped the bamboo bars, eyes locking intensely with Newt’s.

“Do you remember anything?” He asked.

Thomas swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. His eyes locked with the blonde’s and he felt the intensity blazing from them. Newt only furrowed his brows, eyes roaming the brunettes face while apprehension contorted his own.

Thomas’ voice was dry as he explained; “this place…it isn’t what we thought it was. It’s not a prison, it’s a test. We were sent here for a reason but I can’t…I don’t remember why.” He rested his forehead against the door, dread filling his body. “We built this place, Teresa. You and I, we did this to them. We _watched_ them for years.”

“That can’t be true.” Teresa’s words were barely audible. Tears sprung from her eyes. “You have to be lying, Thomas.”

“So, you could see everything?” Minho asked. “Do you _remember_ everything?”

“No, not everything,” Thomas answered. “Bits and pieces. Enough to understand.”

“What _do_ you remember?”

The question came from Newt and Thomas didn’t want to be honest. “Fragments. Us, when we were kids. We were given all of these tests, separating the strong from the weak. And then people started disappearing, one after the other like clockwork.”

A silence followed, perhaps a beat too long.

Thomas avoided the memories of Newt, more specifically the memories of him and Newt. He didn’t want for it to make sense; the familiarity, the inability to keep his eyes from the blonde, the surge of want that powered through him when they stood too close. It all made sense.

“I’m sorry.” Thomas finally lifted his head and met the eyes of his fellow friends. “At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do because I thought it was the _only_ thing to do.”

“And now, the only thing we _can_ do is get of here, because it _is_ the right thing to do,” Newt said, voice stronger than Thomas had ever heard it.

_“Leave, Thomas!” Newt bit out. He towered over him slightly, seething as Thomas repeatedly ignored his demands. “You’re infuriating.”_

Perhaps not, then, but it was a close second.

“You’re our only hope.” Newt placed his hand atop Thomas’, palms enclosing his knuckles in a touch that Thomas had craved for years. Years, without knowing the years had existed, because everything made sense, because everything that felt right made _sense_.

In Newt’s eyes, he recognised the person he knew all those years ago, for all of his childhood and adolescence, but in the reflection was a person Newt had only just met, a person who he had no recollection of whatsoever. A person whose heart would shatter every time he was forced to remember, because they may never be what they once were or _who_ they once were.

Thomas steeled himself, regurgitating the promise he had yet to fulfil; “I’m going to get us out of here. I promise.”

**PRESENT**

_Somewhere across the ocean_

The time had come

And Newt was barely conscious.

He’d been transported back to his room

And laid on his bed

Where he squirmed and moaned

As he was trapped in a dream.

Maybe he’d sleep first

And regain his energy

But there was the risk

That he’d sleep for too long

And wake when he was needed again

Preventing him from accomplishing

His plan.

The plan

Where he’d be with Thomas again

After

…

How long had it been?

Too long.

Too long was the answer,

And the answer sealed his fate.

It was now

Or never.

When the door locked

And he could hear nothing

But steps quietening in the distance

And saw nothing

But the lines where memories

Blurred into the present,

He rolled off his bed

And under it.

It was now or never.

So, Newt removed the grid to the vent

And dragged himself inside.

He twisted, body still aching,

Burning,

Freezing,

And sealed the vent as tightly as he could.

He would leave no trail.

His vision was cloudy, not having dissipated,

As he crawled.

But he pushed on,

The cold of the metallic vent

Keeping him awake.

Alive.

Maybe the vent would be a peaceful place to sleep.

Maybe he’d be undisturbed.

Maybe they’d never find him.

But he didn’t let his desires overpower him.

And so,

He crawled

With no intention of stopping

Until he was free.


	6. The Moments We've All Been Waiting For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay...I know I said I would update every 3-4 days but I underestimated how tiring and time consuming college assignments could be.
> 
> I hope this makes up for it, it's definitely been some of my favourite stuff to write thus far and I hope you all love it too.
> 
> Apologies again for the late update, and thank you to everyone who has been leaving such lovely comments! It really helps with my confidence as I've always been extremely insecure with my writing.

“So, you and Newt,” Minho began. “What was going on there?”

Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve gotta give me more than that, buddy.”

He could give Minho more than that; he could give him a million things, a million words and a million phrases but it would never be enough. He racked his brain for the right answer, the right story, but it all felt too personal. It was his and his alone.

“I saw the way you looked at each other,” Minho said. “Like there was nothing more important.” He chuckled, “I thought outrunning WICKED was our priority, finding a safe place, but you were his priority, Thomas. It was always you.”

“I know.” Thomas swallowed, his voice thick. “But there was never a right time. Even in those six months we spent together out in the Scorch looking for you, there was never…”

“But you wanted to?”

“Of course I wanted to,” Thomas admitted – for the first time. Perhaps it was out of frustration or, simply, it was because he was with Minho, and he could be honest away from prying ears. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to – how badly I wanted _something_ to happen.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Thomas bit his lip. “Because I haven’t been honest,” he said quietly. “Because I’ve been hiding something from everyone and if Newt found out, I don’t think he would have forgiven me.”

Minho furrowed his brows but didn’t speak. He beckoned, encouraging Thomas to continue.

“Back in the Glade, when I stung myself-”

“When you scared the shit out of us, you mean,” Minho teased light-heartedly.

“I remembered Newt – the _us_ I promised him. The _together_.” A tear streaked down his cheek but he made no effort to discard of it. “It was our choice, who would be sent up to the Maze, and I sent Newt.

“It was after Alby went up. He was so…detached from everything – from _me_. I couldn’t keep watching him suffer.”

“So, you thought the Maze was the better option?”

“You saw him, too, Minho. There was nothing else I could have done. He would have been sent up sooner or later, anyway.”

“But you could have had another three years with him, Thomas. You had all that time and you threw it away.”

_“This is the time that we have left. This is the time that I can give you before you forget me.” His hand gripped Newt’s, threading their fingers together. He was crying now, indefinitely. Waterfalls shaped as tears flooded his face, dripping from his chin and splashing on their entwined hands._

“He would have forgotten me and those three years wouldn’t have mattered.”

Thomas was being selfish, he knew it, because those three years _would_ have mattered but only to him; Thomas had got his memories back but Newt hadn’t, Thomas would have remembered the _them_ that existed since childhood but Newt wouldn’t, Thomas would have had to pretend that there was nothing, that the _them_ they had become after the Maze was new, and Newt would never have known any different.

And Thomas would have been the one hurting – the one carrying the _something_ , the _them_ – and none of it would have mattered because Newt would never remember.

_It was to protect myself_ , Thomas thought. It was to protect himself from staring into the eyes of the boy he loved and seeing an empty shell of a person instead.

_“I’m sorry, Newt.” He hiccupped. “I’m sorry that there was no other option. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise. I’m sorry that I…”_

_Newt’s hand found the sharp edge of Thomas’ jawline where he stroked his thumb. “I’m sorry, too.”_

“I did what I thought was right. Do I regret it? Every day. But if I could go back and do it all again, I wouldn’t change anything. It was all for him, Minho. Every decision I made was to save him.”

_Newt’s hand slid to the back of Thomas’ neck, a slight pressure to his touch, where he was pulling Thomas towards him. Their faces were scarcely an inch apart, their breaths ghosting the others lips, tears absorbing together, uniting them as one._

Thomas inhaled deeply. He cast his eyes towards Minho, another tear slipping down his cheek. “We kissed,” he whispered. “We kissed when we were fourteen, before he went into the Maze.”

Minho worked his jaw, his own eyes brimming with tears. He nodded in understanding, “it had to come from him to know it was real.”

“To know that he felt the same,” Thomas added.

“It would have hurt him, you know? That you were keeping it from him. But, as you said, you made decisions to keep him safe, and I respect that. But in the time you had together…would it not have been worth risking it?”

Thomas shrugged. “I tend not to think about it.”

“What if you knew the outcome? What would you have done then?”

“The outcome of his death or the outcome of _us_?”

Minho shook his head, a miniscule smile stretching his lips. “I can never get a straight answer out if you, can I?”

“You know me, always the riddle master.”

“Then unravel this for me, o’ illustrious riddle master; the truck that Brenda mentioned in the grocery store, what was she talking about?”

_“God knows what went on in the back of that truck.”_

Thomas rolled his eyes and breathed a laugh. “Our group was always small but we had a few cars. Vince found a van somewhere, cleaned it out and threw some cushions in the back for comfort, and Jorge had his truck. Newt’s leg was acting up again and I refused to let him sleep on the ground like the rest of us. He put up this huge fuss about it, trying to convince me that he was fine, you could imagine what it was like.

“It almost resulted in us raising our voices at each other, but he gave in before it got that far. He was in a terrible mood, wouldn’t talk to me. We both needed time to cool off and after a while, I went searching for him. Found out from Jorge he’d let him sleep in the back of the truck.

“When I opened the door, he just looked at me. He had these massive puppy dog eyes that made me feel so _guilty_. I climbed in beside him, we apologised, and just stayed there for hours. I tried to leave – you know, let him have his own space, but…”

Thomas trailed off, hoping that Minho could finish the sentence in his head. Or, a version of it, anyway. Some things were strictly Thomas’.

“So, nothing obscene ever happened in the back of that truck?” Minho questioned, and Thomas laughed, louder this time.

“No, nothing obscene happened, _ever_. The truck was…I don’t know, the truck was safety. It was a place we could go to be ourselves, away from the group.” Thomas paused, a grin etching his features. “And I don’t think Jorge would have been too pleased if he found out his truck was being used for another purpose.”

Minho chortled. “Yeah, somehow I don’t think he’d be happy renting out the back seats to love struck teenagers.”

A comfortable silence engulfed them. Thomas’ feeling of dread had shifted to relief; he’d never been able to talk about Newt, not since his death, and not without succumbing to a breakdown and drowning himself in memories he’d tried to cram into a crate, storing them under padlock and chains and casting it out to sea. It bobbed on the waves, undecided if it wanted to sink or not, and just when Thomas thought it had submerged, the crate would reappear, regurgitating the evicted memories.

It was easy with Minho; it always had been. He was one of Thomas’ closest friends (if not his absolute closest) and had become the person he could trust the most. Yet, Thomas still felt ashamed; ashamed for refusing to talk about Newt – _Minho’s_ best friend – and dragging Minho into his messes, ashamed to have to use him as his primary comfort method when he woke up from a nightmare or when he was having a meltdown.

Minho didn’t deserve any of that.

“What was he like in the Maze?” Thomas found himself asking.

“Newt?” Minho queried, to which Thomas nodded. “He was the same person we’ve always known; determined, optimistic, funny at the best of times. He was always Alby’s second-in-command but sometimes it felt like he was the one leading us. You know, keeping us going, filling us with positivity, although sometimes I wondered if he was trying to convince himself that everything would be okay, rather than the Gladers. We believed him, though, because we believed _in_ him, just like we believe in you.”

He paused as if he was thinking. “I could tell you so many stories about him, Thomas. I could tell you about how I used to categorise his smiles. I knew what he was thinking just by studying the shape of his brow. I knew him better than he knew himself, but I think that’s because so much of him had been erased.”

Thomas looked at him with a combination of culpability and curiosity.

“You brought him back, Thomas. You reignited what made him _Newt_ , more than just the essence of who he was before the Maze. I’ll never know that person, but you have and he’s reserved for you.” Minho indicated towards the cord around Thomas’ neck, the one that held the tiny capsule with a letter rolled up inside. “And he always will be, considering you were the only one who received a note.”

Thomas sub-consciously clasped the pendant in his hands, the way he usually he did when he thought about the note – when he thought about what was _in_ the note. Carefully, he removed it from around his neck and dangled it in front of Minho. He opened his palm and Thomas lowered the pendant into the centre of his hand, slowly as though he was having second thoughts.

He was unable to tear his eyes away as he nervously watched Minho twist open the capsule. It made a _pop_ ping noise, one that was distinctive to Thomas. With gentle fingers, Minho unfolded the discoloured parchment. Thomas heard his breath hitch, and Minho looked away from the letter, clamping a hand over his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut.

Thomas waited. He knew not to rush Minho. This was Newt’s letter, something which he had never let anyone read, at least not until now.

It took him a few moments, perhaps it was just the shock of seeing his best friends hand writing – his words – before him that triggered the tears, but Minho reopened his eyes and exhaled shakily.

Thomas, though frightfully nervous as he was, never tore his gaze from Minho as he turned his attention to the letter gripped in his hand:

**Tommy,**

**I’m sorry that my last words have to be given to you like this. It’s not how I intended to say goodbye. In fact, I never intended on saying goodbye at all. I can’t remember if I’ve written any letters before the Maze so this might be my first and it’s likely to be my last, too.**

**I want you to know that I’m not afraid, not of dying. It’s forgetting and losing myself to this virus – it’s forgetting you and losing you, and that terrifies me. It’s funny because I never thought I could lose you, not when I never really had you, but I think I was wrong about that.**

**Every night I’ve been trying to remember. There was Minho, Alby, Winston, Chuck. And then there was you. There’s always been you. When I say their names – when I say your name – everything comes flooding back. You come back to me.**

**The little things do, too. Like when we were in the Scorch and you’d use my chest as a pillow because the sand was too irritating to lie on. And you never had to ask. I swear my heart skipped a beat when I felt your weight against me, knowing that by the morning you would have just about climbed on top.**

**Remembering you is what’s most important to me. But it’s more than that – it’s remembering us, the best version of us that we created. We worked, Thomas, and maybe in another life we would have had our chance because it’s always been you. It’s only ever been you.**

**I’m just sorry that we didn’t have enough time, and I’m sorry that I was foolish enough to hope for longer. If I could go back and do it all again, I would. And I wouldn’t change anything, especially the way you looked at me, touched me, and I hope you can say the same.**

**The future is in your hands, and I want you to live it without regret. Don’t remember me and be sad, remember me and rejoice because we were lucky to share those short six months together. Remember our best moments (you’ll know which ones I’m talking about) and remember that all I ever wanted was for you to be happy. Take this chance, Tommy, and live for me.**

**Thank you for letting me follow you. Thank you for keeping me by your side. You’re the someone that I’ll never forget, no matter how hard this virus tries to take that away from me.**

**Take care of everyone for me and take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy.**

**Thank you for making me feel alive, now go and get some of that life for yourself.**

**Goodbye, Tommy.**

**Your Newt, always.**

Minho was quiet upon reading the letter and maintained that silence as he finished. Neither of them could find the right words. What were they supposed to say, if anything at all?

There was no exchange, only Minho rolling up the crumpled parchment into its original, tiny form and gently inserting it back into the capsule. He handed it to Thomas, the tips of his fingers holding it with fragility, as though it would turn to ash if his grip were any stronger.

Thomas reached out to accept it, but Minho kept his hold. He wasn’t refusing to give it back, no – it was the furthest thing from that. Thomas had given him the last of Newt, the last of what Newt had left for him – for them – and Minho was letting go of him again.

Saying goodbye again.

Conversation passed in the form of locked eyes, a million profound “thank you’s” articulated in the space of a brief second.

Thomas felt a shift in the air as Minho let go of the pendant. The cord strung around Thomas’ neck had looped round Minho, too, binding them together. They had become more than a friendship; they were a family.

They were brothers.

***

The following morning, the group were preparing to depart on their mission.

Frypan, Brenda and Jorge had stuffed sixteen backpacks, each one containing essentials such as flashlights, extra rounds of bullets and, of course, food. They had found some extra storage bins scattered around the Safe Haven from their previous supply runs and distributed them between trucks.

“Everyone has their fair share,” Jorge said.

Gally approached Thomas, tailed by six other kids not much younger than they were. Four of them carried pistols and the other two possessed wooden staffs, the ends carved into point tips.

“Alissa and Sam are better at hand-to-hand combat,” Gally explained. “Don’t piss them off, Thomas. They can be lethal.”

Thomas would have laughed if he weren’t so tired. Another night disturbed by torturous dreams meant another night closer to a burn out.

_Newt had been there, right where he wanted him, but black veins sprouted from underneath his skin, bursting through and wrapping around Thomas like haphazard vines. They snaked around his throat, crushing his windpipe._

_“It was always you, Tommy,” Newt whispered sweetly, unaware of what he was doing. “It was always you I’d hurt the most.”_

_Black goo dripped from his eyes like tears, leaving dark, riverlike tracks on his pale skin._

_Thomas was frightened; he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t beg for Newt to stop._ Let me go _, he wanted to scream._ Please, let me go.

_But his pleads were fruitless_

_And the abyss engulfed him._

He awoke suffocating. A boulder had been dropped on his chest, stopping his lungs from collecting air.

“Let me go!” He cried between sharp inhales. “Let me go! Please, let me go!”

Thomas’ body convulsed intensely, frightening his startled friends. Minho was the first one to jump out of bed, almost tripping as he rushed to Thomas’ side.

“You’re okay, Thomas. Look at me,” he spoke calmingly. He was crouched down, but his long torso almost levelled him with Thomas’ chest. “There’s nothing here that can hurt you.”

Thomas knew he was awake but part of him was still stuck in the dream. Every inch of the cabin was covered in darkness and no matter where he looked, he was struck with Newt’s innocent face before it burgeoned with black veins. He was in the corner, Thomas could have sworn he was right there, with a smile altering into a grimace, but he knew that Newt was dead.

He couldn’t be there, that would be impossible.

But in that moment, everything felt real.

“Thomas, you have to listen to me. You’re safe, you need to breathe.” Minho was desperately trying to calm Thomas, bring him back to reality, but it was proving a challenge as the minutes sped by.

Thomas wondered why he’d want to return to a reality without Newt.

“Earth to Thomas? You still in there?” Gally was waving his hands in front of Thomas, grasping his attention and pulling him from his trance. “You with us?”

Concern could be detected in Gally’s somewhat monotone voice. To anyone else, he would have sounded bored, but Thomas knew that under the layers of baselessness, there was a smithereen of disclosed emotion.

“Yeah.” Thomas shook of his unease. “Thanks, Gally. I’ll try not to piss them off. Don’t want to see anybody’s head on the end of those spikes.”

“Unless it’s a Crank,” Gally piped. He directed his next words to Thomas; “Has Vince drawn up the list yet?”

“He should be done,” Thomas said.

As if on cue, Vince hollered; “Alright! Gather round.”

Gally tilted his head, signalling for his troops to obey the order. Wordlessly, Thomas tagged along beside him.

“I’m not going to waste time, so I’ll just get into it,” Vince said, raising his voice over quelling commotion. “Jorge and Brenda will be leading the Cranks away. I’ve drawn you out a map although it might not be useful if the roads have been dusted over with sand. Get far away enough that they won’t be able to follow you back. I’ll radio you when you’re in the clear. Take one of Gally’s trainees with you.

“I’ll be taking the van along with Aris, Alissa and Sam. Third car will be-”

“I’m here!” Came a call from behind. Thirteen heads swivelled to see Harriet half-jogging towards the group. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I’m coming with you.”

“Perfect timing.” Vince smiled. “As I was saying, the third car will be Gally and Harriet, now that she’s decided to join us. Take the remaining three trainees with you. Finally, the fourth car; Frypan, Minho and Thomas. Any questions, guys?”

“What if we meet other people?” Aris piped up. It hadn’t crossed Thomas’ mind, probably because he was busy thinking about other things. It must have crossed others, though, as some of them hummed in agreement.

“We’ll try to communicate with them. If they want something, we can come to an agreement. No drawing weapons unless they’re an absolute threat to our safety. If they’re harmless, we don’t want to scare them,” Vince answered as though he already had the speech prepared.

“Can we bring them back?” Alissa asked. “I mean, if they’re good people.”

When nobody responded, Thomas spoke; “if we’re absolutely certain that they don’t mean any harm, and they’re not part of a larger group that’s waiting to attack us, then yes. We could bring them back.”

“And you thought that leadership didn’t suit you,” Minho muttered. “Yet, you wear it better than any of us.”

***

The car ride was long. Frypan drove while Minho occupied the passenger seat and Thomas stretched out in the back. The route was bumpy considering the roads were near destroyed and billowed over with sand.

Thomas’ eyes drooped with tiredness but every time he attempted to sleep, the car would rattle as it ran over potholes and swerved to avoid obstacles. Between the three of them, Frypan was the better driver, but occasionally he had delayed reactions.

“Sorry,” he’d apologise for what felt like the hundredth time. “Didn’t see that one.”

The static of the radio could be heard every now and again, with Jorge calling out checkpoints and Vince checking in on everybody, asking if they were bored of each other yet.

“Not long now,” Jorge said, his voice crackling through the walkie. “Over.”

“Remember, cars two through four, we wait behind until Jorge and Brenda are out of sight. And do not, I repeat, _do not_ turn back if we’re in danger.” Vince’s last words were directed towards Jorge and Brenda.

“Unless specifically told otherwise?” Brenda queried. There was a lilt of jesting in her voice.

Vince didn’t respond. The radio went silent until Minho raised the walkie to his mouth and spoke. “Unless specifically ordered by Thomas.”

“Minho!” Thomas scolded. “What was that for?”

“Copy that,” Vince replied. Thomas was surprised; he expected Vince to lash out and chide Minho, but it didn’t come. Minho craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Thomas in the back seat, but the brunette shook his head at him.

“Come on, Thomas,” he argued. “You know that you’re still the real leader, right? Sure, Vince stepped up when you couldn’t handle it, but-”

“But what?” Thomas shot at his friend. “There is no but. Vince is in charge, not me, and everything goes through him.”

“If everything went through him, then why didn’t he argue with me? Surely, if he was the one in charge, he would have demanded that order go through him.”

“Give it a rest, guys,” Frypan said.

Neither of the boys wanted to dispute, let alone distract Fry as he edged the car around a large vehicle sticking out halfway on to the road. Minho heaved a sigh but turned around, and Thomas returned to his uncomfortable position leaning against the door.

He had been more irritable than usual. Restless, too. He couldn’t keep his legs still, either; stretching them out, tucking them into his chest, curling them by his side, but nothing satisfied him. He was becoming aggravated, caught in a cycle of discomfort and agitation.

“You alright, man?” Frypan asked, his eyes catching Thomas in the rear-view mirror.

“Fine,” Thomas mumbled. “Just can’t get-” He attempted to move again, but he didn’t know where else he could move to that he hadn’t already tried. “For fuck sake!”

His outburst alarmed Fry and Minho. “Stop the car,” Minho instructed. Frypan pressed the brakes, gently bringing the car down to speed. Gally and Harriet must have noticed because the radio sounded with Harriet’s voice.

“What’s going on?” She asked. “Why are you stopping?”

Thomas slid his hands over his hears, fingertips gripping his scalp as he did so. The noise, it was the noise. Too loud and too high pitched. He could hear his own breathing in his ears, could feel his chest compressing as he sucked in a breath.

“It’s Thomas.” Frypan must have replied because the back door was swung open by Minho, causing Thomas’ neck to snap in his direction from panic.

“Step out the car,” he instructed Thomas with a consoling voice. “Come get some fresh air, stretch your legs.”

The line of cars stopped ahead. The driver doors had opened to peer behind and voices filled the radio, which caused Thomas to squirm even more.

“Don’t use the walkie’s right now,” Fry said, though his voice sounded far away.

Thomas was vaguely aware of being coaxed out of the car and led round the back, away from inquisitive eyes. His hands shook as he pulled the khaki jacket from his body, flinging it in the trunk where he’d collect it later. The tightness eased from the lack of material.

He could breathe again. Or, slightly better.

“You’ve been all over the place today,” Minho said. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas whimpered. “It’s been happening since last night, since you read the letter.”

“You feeling jittery? Sensitive?”

Thomas nodded. Multiple times, he opened his mouth to speak but immediately shut it. Nothing but a broken sound emitted from him, the words were caught in the back of his throat.

“I keep seeing him,” Thomas said barely above a whisper. “He’s everywhere. He’s in my dreams, standing in the corner when I wake up. He’s in the distance, he’s right behind me. I can feel him, Minho, like he’s still here. Like he’s right here with me.”

“I know, Thomas. I feel him, too. It’s the mark he left, intangible, but we know it’s there, ingrained in us, in our memories of him.”

“It’s always been our memories, hasn’t it?”

Minho bit his lip but nodded none the less. “Afraid so.” He glimpsed round the side of the truck then back at Thomas, scanning his shuddering body. “You ready to go? We’re not far out.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good, let’s go.”

Thomas hopped back into the truck, this time sitting upright in the seat and staring out the window. Although his hands were still trembling, the peak of his restlessness had passed and he could contain himself for the rest of the ride.

“Okay, let’s roll,” Frypan said into the walkie and moments later, they were moving again.

**BEFORE**

_The Scorch_

The water pooled at his feet before it circled down the drain. Thomas stared in horror at the amount of blood rinsing off of him. It was Chuck’s blood, covering every inch of his hands.

Thomas wanted to scream – he wanted to mourn for the loss of his friend, a boy too young to die, a boy too young to sacrifice himself.

The rest of the boys – the ones who survived – whooped as they showered under warm water, a luxury they hadn’t experienced in years. But, despite the temperature of the water, Thomas was still cold, frozen in the past and barely able to feel the water dripping down his body in the present.

The evening passed in a blur; they ate dinner in their own quarters, a buffet of hot food set out before them, but Thomas hardly ate. He picked at his food, seldom lifting a fork to his mouth and nibbled on chicken and potatoes. He couldn’t stomach it, in fact, the thought of eating made him feel queasy.

Because it was wrong – it was wrong that they could feast freely on foods they’d only dreamed of for three years when the majority of their friends had perished. Why should that be fair?

Thomas wondered if anybody else felt the same, or if they were too caught up revelling in their freedom to care.

“You alright, Thomas?” Newt sat himself down next to Thomas, balancing a plate on his lap. “You haven’t eaten much.”

Thomas shrugged. “Not hungry.”

“You can’t be serious,” Newt said with a laugh but upon seeing the expression on Thomas’ face, it vanished as quick as it appeared. “You just led us through the Maze – on an empty stomach, might I add – and proceeded to battle Grievers, and you’re not hungry?”

The brunette shook his head. He finally looked up, his eyes catching Newt’s in a lethargic state.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” Asked Newt with such care – such compassion – it ached Thomas’ heart.

“It’s more like a spinning plate.”

Newt gave him a curious look, but a small smile creeped its way on to his face. “How so?”

Thomas twisted his body so he didn’t have to keep pivoting his head. “Because I’m like the stick that keeps it up, I control it, but the plate won’t stop and the speed keeps building and building until it flies of the stick. My mind won’t stop, Newt. I can’t stop thinking about-”

He cut himself off abruptly, taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of his nose. He wanted to cry, he wanted to crack a glass bottle and let the tears pour out.

“I can’t stop thinking about him.”

The tears never came, maybe because he was too exhausted to cry, or maybe because he didn’t want to put a damper on the mood. His friends were having fun, laughing, talking carelessly, and Thomas didn’t want to be the cause of tensity in the atmosphere.

“I’m sorry, Thomas,” Newt apologised. “I wish there was something we could have done.”

“I was supposed to get him out – I _promised_ him. But I failed, and we’re proof of that. Look at how many of us got out compared to those who died.”

“No.” Newt shook his head and put a delicate hand on Thomas’ knee. “You didn’t fail, not at all. We’re alive because of you.”

“But people died because of me, too.” Thomas was aware that his voice was raising. “Even Gally died because of me. Jeff sacrificed himself for us, hell – _Alby_ sacrificed himself for us.”

“I know he did,” Newt said harshly. “And I know that he could have been here with us, but he sacrificed himself because he believed in you, Thomas, and if he were here, he’d be telling you the same thing.”

The blonde sighed, squeezing Thomas’ knee in the process, and softened his voice; “I understand that you’re hurting, we all are, but can’t we just have this one night? And then tomorrow we can figure out where to go from here.”

If it wasn’t his pained voice that sent a pang of sorrow through Thomas’ body, it was the pleading, puppy dog eyes Newt was giving him.

“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry, Newt.”

“No need to be sorry, Thomas. Now c’mon, eat up.”

When Thomas realised that Newt wouldn’t move until he’d eaten his food, he scooped mashed potato on to his fork and took a bite, suddenly wishing that he’d eaten earlier when the food was still hot. Nevertheless, he forced himself to take another bite and, once his stomach had settled, he began gnawing the chicken leg.

And not once did Newt’s hand leave Thomas’ knee.

***

It was late when they called it a night and retreated to their beds.

“Still can’t believe we have real beds,” Minho said as he threw a thin blanket over his legs. “No more sleeping in hammocks.”

“Yeah, thankfully those days are gone,” Frypan agreed.

Thomas almost felt estranged; while they spent three years sleeping in hammocks, he spent three years sleeping in a bed. Not a very big bed, mind, but a bed was a bed, and as far as he was concerned, he had lived a life of affluence compared to his friends.

He climbed into his own bed, cringing as the scratchy material of the sheets rubbed on his arms. He heard Newt wriggling on the bed above him and Thomas could see faint indents on the mattress from where he was lying.

There was minimal lighting, the only source coming from the glowing wall lights above the sinks on the far side of the room. There was rustling as the boys tossed and turned until they found comfortable positions, and the darkness swallowed them as they fell into a peaceful sleep.

Thomas, however, did not. The spinning plate was still turning and showed no signs of slowing down.

_“We can’t leave.” The pistol in Gally’s hand was shaking._

_“We did, Gally, we’re out. We’re free,” Thomas countered._

_“Free?” Gally scoffed. “You think we’re free out there?”_

_He raised the gun so it was eye level and pointed it directly at Thomas._

_“Gally listen to me; you’re not thinking. We can help you, just put down the gun.”_

_“I belong to the Maze.”_

_“Gally, just put down the gun,” Thomas tried to plead with him._

_“We all do.”_

_A loud bang reverberated as the pistol was fired. Thomas shielded himself with his arms in a split-second reaction and when he looked back at Gally, a spear was lodged in his chest. A horrible, wheezing noise could be heard as he struggled to breathe, followed by a clatter as his knees hit the ground. Then, his body toppled sideways._

_“Thomas…” came a faint whisper._

_Thomas turned in time to catch Chuck and messily lower him to the ground. Blood soaked his white shirt. The bullet had hit Chuck. They boy, who could have been no older than twelve, had jumped in front of Thomas and taken the hit._

_“Chuck.” Thomas felt sick. Tears were spilling from his eyes before he knew it and his vision of his friend was becoming clouded. “Chuck, hey, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”_

_“Thomas,” the boy whispered again, this time weaker. He raised his hand, opening his palm to reveal a carved wooden figurine. “Give this to them.”_

_“No, you’re going to give it to them yourself, remember?”_

_But Chuck was shaking his head. They knew he wasn’t going to make it; it was only a matter of time._

_“Thank you, Thomas,” he said. “Thank you.”_

_His body sagged as he exhaled his final breath._

_“Chuck?” Thomas was in disbelief. “Chuck! C’mon, wake up!”_

_He wailed over the boys’ body, shaking him, yelling at him to wake up, but there was no use. Chuck was dead._

_Thomas registered the pouring of light that came from behind followed by muffled voices but made to effort to move. He was cemented where he kneeled, the weight of the world crashing down on him, trapping him under mounds of torture and cruelty._

_“We need to go, Thomas.” There was a hand on his shoulder and a gentle voice. A wisp of blonde hair made it into Thomas sight. The hand slid down to his chest where he began pushing. “We have to go.”_

_“I can’t leave him,” Thomas choked out. “I can’t leave him here.”_

_“Thomas…” Newt didn’t know what to say. There was nothing he could say, not even a lie. “We need to go. I’m sorry.”_

_His other hand grasped Thomas’ bicep and he began lifting him to his feet, keeping him steady. Thomas was blinded by tears and had to rely on Newt to lead him away. He caught one last glimpse of Chuck and Gally’s lifeless bodies before they exited through the square, metal archway._

_How did they get there so fast?_

_Newt had an arm wrapped around Thomas’ shoulders, half pulling him into his body as they trudged towards a helicopter. Thomas would have collapsed if it weren’t for Newt’s support. The surviving Glader’s helped a struggling Thomas’ into the helicopter with Newt piling in last._

_The blades atop the helicopter began to whirl, the noise penetrating through Thomas with a great intensity. The noise overwhelmed him, sending him into hysterics. There was a lack of oxygen in his lungs and he felt his chest exploding into flames._

_“Thomas.” He could barely hear Newt over the noise of the blades. He wanted to bury his face into his hands and cry until it was over, but_ over _felt like an eternity away._

_“Thomas, I know this is difficult but you have to calm down.” He was kneeling in front of Thomas. His voice was only audible to the brunette. “Listen to me, just me.”_

_Conscientiously, the blonde lifted his hand and cupped it around Thomas’ jaw. His eyes filled with panic at the contact and he tried to scurry backwards however Newt caught his arm with his other hand and halted his movements. He stroked his thumb over Thomas’ cheekbone, and the brunette lifted his hand to grip Newt’s forearm._

_“I’m not going anywhere.” Newt reassured him. “I’m right here.”_

_His eyes stayed locked on to Thomas’ for the remained of the ride, his thumbs never stopped caressing his tear-stained skin, and his hushed voice was never swept away by the whirring._

Thomas lay fidgeting with the tattered blanket in the dark room. The only detectable sound was the light snoring that came from Minho’s direction. There were too many things irking him; the material of the blanket and bedsheets, the snoring amplified by Thomas’ hypersensitivity, and the lack of light forcing him to relieve the days events.

He wanted to shut them out, put up a bedrock wall, but they kept cramming their way into his mind.

Rather than allowing them to intrude, Thomas leapt out of bed and padded towards the sink where he splashed cold water on his face. He braced himself against it, inhaling a prolonged breath which nestled into his lungs with a twinge of unease.

He paused short of his bed as he returned to it, contemplating getting back in. His hands shook at his sides and his chest began to ache. _The material is wrong_ , he thought. The _material is wrong._

“The material is wrong.”

“Thomas?” The sudden voice shocked him.

“It’s wrong,” he repeated.

Newt climbed down the ladder and Thomas took a step back.

“Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me how to help.”

They were communicating in low voices so as not to disturb their sleeping friends. When Thomas didn’t answer, Newt hastily walked in the direction of the closet where spare clothes were kept. He swiftly took them off their hangers and lay them over the bed sheets, tucking them underneath the mattress, even replacing the pillowcase with a shirt.

Thomas watched in fascination as he paced back and forth from the closet, creating a space comfortable enough for Thomas to lie on and attain at least a few hours’ sleep. His eyes flickered between the bed and Newt, who was biting his lip timidly.

“I wasn’t sure…” he trailed off. “If it doesn’t help, tell me and we can try something different.”

Thomas stepped past the blonde and lowered himself on to his bed. It felt softer than it had done previously.

“Thank you,” Thomas whispered, his voice cracking. Newt made to climb up the ladders to his own bed, but Thomas clasped a hand around his wrist. “Wait,” he said, and Newt looked at him worriedly. “Can you stay?”

The blonde visibly relaxed. “Of course.”

Thomas shuffled over so his back was pressed against the wall, allowing room for Newt’s lanky body to lay next to his. The mattress dipped as he did so. Despite the darkness, his outline was visible, something Thomas took a great deal of comfort in.

Newt huffed a laugh. “Come here, Thomas.”

Thomas froze. Come closer to Newt? Hesitantly, inched towards the boy. He turned so his back was scarcely pressed against Newt’s chest. Newt’s arm found its way around Thomas torso, and his hand snaked up to meet his chest.

“Do you want the blanket?” The blonde asked.

“No.” Thomas shook his head. “You’re warm enough for the both of us.”

Newt’s breath fanned across Thomas’ neck as he laughed. If the room where a kilowatt brighter, he would have noticed the hairs sticking up on the back of his neck.

“Are the plates still spinning?”

“They never stop.”

Newt sighed, and Thomas swore he could have crumbled under the sensation. There was a short pause before Newt spoke again; “how did you know what a spinning plate was, anyway?”

_“Your turn, Newt!” An excited Thomas handed the red spinning plate and wooden stick to a reluctant Newt. “The birthday boy can’t miss out.”_

“I don’t know,” Thomas answered. “But I must have known what it was at some point in my life, right?”

“Right.”

They lay together in a complacent silence, Newt’s body providing a shared warmth. Thomas must have drifted off eventually, because he jolted awake, startling Newt in the process. He tried to turn around, but Newt’s body held him in place.

“I’m not going anywhere,” the blonde whispered. “Go back to sleep, I’m right here.”

Thomas repositioned himself against Newt’s chest. After a moment’s consideration, he clasped a hand around Newt’s – the one that was wrapped around him. Thomas felt himself sink back against Newt as their bodies melted together.

It wasn’t long before both boys fell into a tranquil sleep.

However, they woke the following morning to Minho exclaiming; “where the fuck did all the clothes go?”

**PRESENT**

_Somewhere across the ocean_

Newt must have fallen asleep in the vent because he woke up feeling refreshed.

However, he woke to blaring alarms which could only mean

That they’d realised he was gone.

Escaped.

Or, escaping, seeing as he wasn’t free yet.

He didn’t know where the burst of energy had come from but within a second

He was racing through the vents. The huge downside to his plan was, of course,

That he didn’t know the layout of the facility.

It had to be guesswork that got him out; trial and error.

The metal of the vent was cold, but the air had to come from somewhere, right?

Technically, there was no way of following air but he crawled regardless into the cold, into where it was blowing against his face.

There were voices below him, yelling orders, and Newt could only assume that they were talking about him.

“Don’t hurt him, tase him if you have to, but don’t hurt him.”

Newt never knew the names of the doctors, but he decided that this one, in particular, was a bitch.

The air was growing baltic.

There were the sounds of cars, now. A garage, of course. They needed somewhere to keep their transport…and Newt could drive.

But could he drive in this condition? Awake, but not fully endorsed in reality yet. It was still coming back to him – the world was still coming back to him.

He just had to wait until it was quiet but if he waited too long, it could be to late and they could figure out that he was in the vents (if they hadn’t already).

It was now or never.

When the guards had passed and no other voices could be heard, Newt unlatched the vent and it swung open with ease.

It was now or never.

Though he was weak, he turned himself on to his stomach and poked his legs through the vent, followed by the rest of his body.

He hung there for a moment before his strength gave in and he dropped ten feet to the ground.

He landed with a thud, wobbling on his feet as he jarred his back.

Newt glanced around and limped towards the closest truck.

It dawned upon him that this was the first time he had walked since…

Since he could last remember.

When the truck door wouldn’t open, he lifted his elbow and smashed it through the window, and unlocked it from the inside.

The door clicked open and he hauled himself into the drivers’ seat.

He hoped his consciousness would remain as he drove and didn’t unexpectedly drop off.

There were no keys, just wires. _Jorge taught me how to hotwire_ , Newt remembered. _When he taught us how to drive, we didn’t have keys, so he taught us how to hotwire a car._

_Jorge_ , his brain repeated. _Driving, hotwiring, us._

It was jumbled, but it was coming back – all of it.

The car started with a roar, much to Newt’s delight, and he wasted no time putting the car into drive and pressing down on the gas.

And out the garage door he went, speeding down the road, and it was then that he wished he had a map because although he had escaped…

He didn’t know where he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Newt's POV has been the most interesting stuff I've ever done, and you'll have noticed the lines aren't so short. Over time, they're going to lengthen into normal prose to show his recovery however it'll still have the same layout and slip back into staggered writing.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's stuck around this far and I promise that from here it's only going to get better. I have some really exciting stuff planned for the next few chapters, moments I've been waiting to write since the beginning!
> 
> Thank you all again, and hopefully you'll see another chapter soon!


	7. City of Blinding Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while :)
> 
> Deepest apologies for such a late upload, I've had so many college assignments to get through so I haven't had time to write.
> 
> Before you read the chapter, I'd like to leave a quick note saying that the formatting of my work was inspired by a fic written by draronoliver called 'Look After You.' 
> 
> It's one of my all time favourite fics and it inspired me to get back into writing, and if you haven't read it already, I'd highly suggest that you do!

The grocery store was overrun by Cranks. They filled the entirety of the parking lot and some had spread out on to the road.

“We need to find a way past the ones on the road,” Jorge said through the radio. “Otherwise, Brenda and I will be swarmed.”

“Brenda has a gun, right?” Minho replied.

“When does Brenda _not_ have a gun?” Jorge teased.

“You could drive close to the Cranks, Brenda and your trainee could fire at them when you get close and it’ll clear a path.”

“We’ll be spotted before we open fire.”

The four vehicles were out of sight from the hoard. Jorge and Vince, being up front, had eyes on the situation and were feeding information through the radios. Thomas and Minho were on look out at the back of the queue.

Thomas reached forwards between the gap in the front seats and grabbed the radio. Without hesitation, he brought it to his mouth; “you have enough horsepower to get up to speed within seconds, and the exterior of the car itself is strong enough not to take damage if you barrelled into them.”

“Thomas has a point,” came Gally’s voice. “I’m not saying the car’s unstoppable, but it can take a hit.”

There was a long pause where nobody spoke. The radio was at a dead silence, as if their options were being weighed out.

“It’s possible,” Vince said eventually. “Only if you want to risk it.”

“We’re doing it,” said Brenda. “If this goes wrong and I die, Thomas, then I’ll see you in hell.”

The screeching of tires could be heard from the furthest car and, no doubt, beyond. Thomas cringed and quickly swivelled his head to peer out the back window, scanning for any signs that they’d attracted more Cranks, but breathed a sigh of relief when nothing rounded the corner.

A deafening roar and a stampede followed. The atmosphere in the car was tense and Thomas was sure that the thundering of his heart could be heard amongst the silence. Thomas clutched the radio in his hand, almost desperate to say something, but Jorge bet him to it.

“We got past them,” he said, voice raised. There were shrill shrieks in the background, indicating that the Cranks were following them, and they were close behind. Guns were cocked and fired as Brenda and the trainee shot at the ones nearest the truck.

“So help me God, if this truck gets damaged, you’ll be fixing it, Thomas.”

At the mention of his name, Thomas held down the transmitter and replied with his own sarcastic comment: “Don’t pin this all on me, Gally agreed that it was a great idea.”

“Hey, I never said it was a _great_ idea,” Gally quipped. “I said it was possible and…that the car can take a hit.”

He rushed out the last part.

“Then you can both fix my Bertha,” Jorge said.

The conversation eased the severity of the situation; it gave them something else to focus on, something to laugh at.

“You’re in the clear,” Vince said. “Let’s roll out.”

“We’ll keep you updated,” Jorge’s voice rung out once more.

Frypan pressed on the gas after Gally’s truck began to move. They followed them into the empty car park, turning their cars in case they had to make a hasty exit. It was part of the many outcomes they debated, and part of the many escape plans formed.

“You okay to do this, Thomas?” Minho asked. “If you’d rather be on watch then I’m sure either Gally or Harriet would happily switch out.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Thank you, though.”

Thomas’ friends knew he wasn’t fragile, knew that his meltdowns weren’t a setback, but nevertheless offered an alternative, providing a comfort only they could. He was grateful for their awareness, their protectiveness, because they knew when to step back and let him breathe.

They stepped out of the truck and Thomas scanned the familiar grocery store building. It was in the same condition it had been the previous day and Thomas couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else had discovered the store. Although, it would have been impossible for them to get anywhere near considering there had been a crowd of Cranks surrounding it.

Minho opened the trunk and handed Thomas his jacket. He gave an appreciative nod and put it on, the length of it hiding the pistols and daggers strapped to his waistband. They each grabbed one of the large plastic containers, Minho passing one to Frypan, and they met Vince outside his van.

“I want each of you focussing on specific items. Stay in your groups and take as much as possible. Gally and Harriet will be on lookout, so if anything goes wrong, radio me,” Vince called out. “Remember, there may still be Cranks inside, so I need everyone to stay alert and watch your backs. Try to avoid using your guns, we don’t want to attract any attention.”

The group dispersed, daggers raised and at the ready. Vince entered the store first with Aris tailing him. Back-to-back, they scanned the entrance, and gave the all clear when it was safe to enter.

“Teresa gave me a list,” Frypan said as he, Thomas and Minho parted from the group. “She needs medical supplies and lots of them. There should be a pharmacy here or, at the very least, an aisle.”

“You spoke to Teresa?” Thomas asked.

“Not exactly. She came to find me this morning, handed me a list and asked if I could look for these things.”

“That was it? Nothing else?”

“The whole exchange,” Frypan confirmed. “I know you don’t trust her Thomas, none of us do, but I don’t believe she’s who she used to be. Look at all the good she’s done for us in the last six months; she’s patched me up after accidents in the kitchen on many occasions, and I doubt half of the Safe Haven would have recovered from infections if it weren’t for her.”

It was no secret that Thomas disliked Teresa – distrusted her, even. He didn’t have to save her; he could have let her collapse with the building, with the city, and if he had been a second too slow, she would have. She would have been a body crushed under the chaos, a body disintegrated in the fire, a body indistinguishable from rubble.

And Thomas would have claimed the responsibility for her death, too.

Her betrayal stung; Thomas wanted to believe that Teresa did it for the right reasons, that her actions could be justified, but he couldn’t bring himself to understand. He couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive her.

_“Thomas-”_

_“What do you want?”_

_Teresa looked taken aback. She was barely visible in the dark night sky, the orange flames of the bonfire lit up her pale face and bony features. He raven hair settled just below her shoulders, occasionally falling in front of her eyes. With a skinny finger, she tucked it behind her ear._

_“I just wanted to say thank you. I didn’t deserve it, I know, but-”_

_“You’re right, you didn’t deserve it.” Thomas’ voice was laced with hatred. “You still don’t.”_

_“Then why?” She approached him cautiously. “Why did you save me?”_

_“Because I couldn’t let anyone else die.”_

_A silence stretched between them. Thomas could berate her for everything she put them through but decided not to waste his breath._

_“Do you think…” Teresa began, her voice small. “Do you think you could ever forgive me?”_

_“No,” Thomas said without a moment’s hesitation. “You know I can’t, Teresa.”_

_She bit her lip and looked away, hiding the shining tears that filled her eyes. One escaped, slipping down her cheek, which she wiped away with the back of her hand._

_“I’m sorry,” Teresa whispered. “I didn’t know it would end this way. I thought…I thought you might have come with me. I thought we had a chance to put a stop to all of this. I thought you’d try to see it from my perspective – that we had hope.”_

_“You don’t get to do this, Teresa. You don’t get to cry over it; you had a choice and you picked the wrong side.”_

_“I didn’t know that, Thomas! I thought I was doing-”_

_“The right thing. Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”_

_A strangled cry sounded in her throat as she attempted to defend herself._

_Thomas sighed, “I didn’t want it to end this way either, and I’m sorry that it has. We should all be here, alive, not just a fraction.” He paused, wanting to say more, wanting to throw the blame at her and watch it weigh her down. “I can’t trust you and I can’t forgive you, but I can be civil with you.”_

_“Okay,” Teresa whispered, the tears falling freely. “Okay.”_

The pharmacy was to the left of the store, signposted in blue and hard to miss. The stark white shelves were coated in dust and the floor was littered with fallen prescription bottles and spilled medication.

Minho lifted the counter flap to the right, moving slowly with a hand on his gun. Frypan followed with the list, scavenging the shelves for painkillers, bandages and antiseptics. He picked up pill bottles, scanned the labels and put them in his container.

“I don’t know what half of this stuff is,” he admitted. “But Teresa must.”

Teresa gained her knowledge by working for WCKD – it was the only reasonable explanation, and she could concoct the Cure if she had the right supplies. Sadly, though, she had none of things, meaning the Safe Haven had to always be aware of Cranks and those who weren’t immune.

The latter was sparse considering the majority of the population were of the younger generation, the ones least likely to become infected, but they still had to be safe. They couldn’t take any risks.

“There’s a storeroom back here,” Minho called as he jimmied a doorknob. “It’s locked.”

“Wanna check it out?” Thomas asked Frypan.

Fry nodded, “could be something useful.”

“There’s no key,” said Minho. “Should we just kick it down?”

“What if there’s something in there?” Frypan asked.

“The whole store was sealed off and the door was locked, so I doubt it.”

“You said there’s no key, right? Have you considered that it might have been locked from the inside?”

The three boys fell into silence. Thomas wanted to force a laugh, cut the tension, but he was frozen. There was nothing he could say that would reassure his friends.

_What_ if _the door was locked form the inside? What would they find?_

“Let’s just get this over with,” Minho said. “I’ll kick it, you two be ready with your weapons.”

Thomas and Frypan put down their containers and drew the pistols from their waistbands. Minho lifted his leg and kicked above the doorknob as hard as he could and the door swung open, banging off the shelf behind. There was a clattering, then a soft growl.

A rotten smell wafted through, causing the boys to gag and turn their heads away. Minho lifted the crease of his elbow to his nose before pulling out his own gun and stepping forwards. Quickly, he examined the small room.

There were two decomposing Cranks lounging against the shelves and the remains of a body scattered across the floor. The Cranks were slow to move, allowing Minho to switch out his gun for a dagger and stab it through one of the Cranks skulls, and Thomas mimicked the action on the other one.

“Jesus,” Thomas muttered. “Looks like a bloodbath in here.”

“Wonder how long they were here for,” Frypan said as he picked up his container and stepped into the room.

“Years, by the looks of it.” Minho wiped the blood from his dagger on his jeans. “Just get what you need and let’s get out of here. Vince gave us a list as well, remember?”

Vince had taken it upon himself to ask around the Safe Haven for any requests, and put together a list to divide between the group. Thomas, Minho and Frypan were responsible for gathering clothes. The Safe Haven always needed more jeans and t-shirts since the population went through them so quickly.

“Don’t be picky, just grab what you can,” Minho instructed. “Stick together, no wandering. I’m not losing you in the clothing section.”

“Losing us or _losing_ us?” Thomas asked, a small smile etching his face.

Minho rolled his eyes but huffed out a laugh nonetheless.

Thomas began taking t-shirts of all colours and sizes of their hangers and throwing them lazily into the container.

“You could at least fold them,” Minho muttered as he folded jeans and joggie bottoms before placing them carefully into his storage container.

“Your fault, you told us to grab whatever we could, never mentioned anything about folding,” Thomas retorted, still smiling.

“Basic human decency,” Minho teased. “You would make a terrible house-wife.”

Frypan was on watch, his back turned to Minho and Thomas, but his shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“Do you two need to go into separate corners?” He fake scolded. “We’re almost done, then we can put this stuff in the truck.”

Thomas finished piling in t-shirts and, much to Minho’s dismay, they were crumpled. “We might live in the middle of nowhere but we could still have class,” Minho joked, earning a swat on the arm from Thomas.

The walkie-talkie in Minho’s pocket crackled suddenly and Gally’s voice followed; “we have company. Repeat, we have company.”

“Everyone back to the trucks,” Vince replied.

Thomas, Minho and Frypan jogged towards the front of the grocery store, regrouping with Vince, Aris and the trainees, who looked terrified despite their attempts to hide it.

“Hey,” Thomas said to them calmly. “Just stay behind me, everything’s going to be fine.”

A gunshot went off, followed by a chorus of yelling, two voices of which were Gally and Harriet’s. The positioned themselves behind their truck, rifles cocked and raised. Harriet was squinting through the scope of her sniper, training it on a different person every few seconds.

“We’re coming out!” Vince yelled, drawing attention to the entrance of the store. They exited in single file but as soon as they were out, they dropped their containers and drew their guns.

“What’s going on?” Minho asked. “Who fired?”

“They did,” Gally called back. “Almost hit Harriet.”

“We could have clocked her,” a voice called back. Feminine, sickeningly sweet. “But where would the fun in that have been?”

There were eight military style cars parked in the road, blocking any possible escape route. Their leader had long, dark hair and wore a denim camouflage jacket, with black jeans and ankle boots.

“Where you guys headed?” She asked. “Got a place around here?”

“No, we’re by ourselves,” Vince replied evenly.

“Really?” She raised a brow. “Then where did the other three go?”

_Fuck_.

“Leading the Cranks away,” Thomas called.

“Where?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

The woman chuckled and took a step forwards; half of her group pointed their guns, immediately outnumbering them.

“Why don’t we talk,” she suggested. “Your leader and I.”

Thomas looked over to Vince, assuming he would take the role, but he was staring right back at Thomas.

And so was the rest of the group.

“You’re our leader, Thomas,” Vince said to him. “You always have been.”

“But I…” _I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to be responsible for their deaths, too._

“I know you can do this Thomas,” Minho encouraged him. “Deep down, you know it, too. You’re our best shot at getting us out of this alive.”

Thomas licked his lips. He turned back to the woman as he spoke; “okay, but we end the stand-off.”

“Deal.” She whistled and signalled for her group to lower their weapons. Thomas did the same, and they hesitantly stuffed their guns back into their waistbands.

Thomas began walking to meet her in the middle of the parking lot, both keeping several feet apart when they did so.

The woman tilted her head, “you look too young to be a leader.”

“Yeah, well, try being a leader and taking down one of the world’s largest corporations,” Thomas jabbed.

“That was you?” She looked surprised – shocked, even.

“Yeah, that was us,” Thomas said.

“We were headed for the City; heard WCKD had taken more kids, we wanted to get them out but when we got there…”

“It had been burned to the ground.”

“Exactly.” She lowered her voice. “Did you get them out?”

“Every one of them.”

She smirked, “then we’re in need of a real conversation, pretty boy.”

**BEFORE**

_The Scorch_

“We followed you out here, Thomas, and now you’re telling me that you have no idea where we are or what we’re doing?” Newt accused, staring at Thomas in disbelief.

“Yeah, no, I don’t know.” Thomas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, Newt, okay? I don’t know, but isn’t it enough that I got us out of there?”

“ _You_ got us out of there?” Newt took a step forwards, pointing a finger at Thomas. “If it weren’t for Aris, we would still be stuck in there. He came to us – to _you_ – and you’re going to take all the credit as usual.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Thomas challenged.

“Let’s not do this now,” Minho said as he stepped between the two boys, putting a hand on either chest and pushing them in separate directions. “We should look around, get some supplies, and try to find a way out of here.”

Newt jerked away from where Minho’s palm was lightly resting and stalked off into the darkness with Frypan and Teresa following close behind.

“He just needs time to cool down,” Minho said quietly to Thomas. “Like he said back at the facility; some of us haven’t slept in a real bed in years. We were _all_ rooting for it to be our new home, our fresh start, but it wasn’t to be. We’ll find our way, though, we always do.

“And I believe a ‘thanks’ is in order.”

“And one for Aris, too,” Thomas said, turning his head to look at the smaller boy standing beside him. He gave him a small nod before turning back to Minho. “We should be looking for supplies – things that could be useful.”

Thomas, Minho, Aris and Winston followed in the same direction their friends had gone, scavenging in the dark for backpacks and flashlights.

_“It’s WCKD! It’s still WCKD!”_

_“Thomas, what are you saying?” Newt asked calmly, stepping in front of his friend._

_“We gotta go,” Thomas replied, breathing heavily. “They’re coming for us, we’ve gotta go now!”_

_“We need to slow them down first,” Aris advised as he slid out from under the bed. “Block the door; put a mattress in front of it.”_

_“What…?” Minho asked in the midst of all the chaos._

_“Just do it, we don’t have time,” Thomas instructed and together, the group hauled a mattress off one of the beds and jammed it against the door. Frypan began stacking items against it, even trapping a pipe through the handle and behind the closet._

_When it was secured, Thomas told them to start crawling through the vent after Aris, but Newt looked sceptical._

_“Thomas…” he whispered, frightened. “We don’t have to do this. What if you’re wrong?”_

_“I’m not wrong, Newt,” Thomas reasoned. “They’re harvesting kids. I saw it with my own eyes.” He paused, looking back at the others who were scrambling on their front and disappearing into the vent under the bed._

_“And I’m not going to let the same thing happen to you.”_

_“Okay.” Newt sniffled, raising a hand to wipe away his tears, but Thomas bet him to it. Slowly, as if waiting for permission, he cupped Newt’s jaw in both hands and thumbed away the escaped tears._

_“I’d never let anyone hurt you,” Thomas whispered, his voice barely audible over the rest of the boys shouting at one another. “I’ll always protect you._ Always _.”_

_Thomas regretfully slid his hands away from Newt’s face and gestured for him to move into the vent first. Thomas followed, mere moments before a loud pounding could be heard as, presumably, someone was trying to break down the door._

“Here,” Minho called. “Take this backpack.”

Thomas caught the beige bag Minho threw at him, unbuckling it and tipping it upside down, checking for any remaining contents. When he found none, he threw one of the straps around his shoulder.

“Let’s split up,” Thomas suggested. “It’ll be quicker.”  
  


“Sure, boss,” Winston spoke, giving Thomas a small smile. “And thank you.”

He and Aris walked away, leaving Thomas with Minho. They dug through piles of junk, eventually finding torches and stuffing anything they thought would be useful into their backpacks. There wasn’t much, granted, but it was better than having nothing, even if it was just a piece of string.

“Look,” Minho said, catching Thomas attention. “It’s a switch.”

“There’s only one way to find out what it does,” Thomas suggested. “If it still does anything at all.”

Minho flipped the switch and both boys held their breaths. When nothing happened, they let out a short exhale, almost relieved, but a sudden light flickered in the distance. One by one, they all came on; fairy lights, dangling above them, alighting the passage behind a barbed wire fence.

Their amazement didn’t last for long, though, as it was interrupted by a piercing scream. They were face-to-face with a rotting, half eroded body, with black goop dripping from its eyes and mouth. Its skeletal fingers gripped at the wire fence, rattling it, attempting to claw its way through.

“We gotta go,” Thomas said, his hand grabbing at Minho’s bicep and pulling him backwards. The _thing_ had attracted others – others that looked _exactly_ like it – and they were sprinting down the wide corridor, screeching and crying, and Thomas knew that the fence wouldn’t hold for much longer.

“Go!” He yelled again, and Minho snapped out of his horrified expression. They sprinted through the now lit up building, hearts thundering in their chest, and Thomas barely heard the clattering of the fence behind them over his rugged breathing.

Up ahead, Thomas spotted the rest of the group. He yelled out to them, his throat scratching as he did so.

“Run!” The group looked back at him, confused. “Run!” He tried again, and this time they starting edging away, dropping the extra weight they couldn’t carry, and ran.

_“Cranks!”_

_The soldiers fired their weapons at the creatures scampering over the dune. Thomas could barely see the figures moving in the darkness, but he heard their wails._

_What were those things? What were they shooting at?_

_Cranks_ , he remembered the name the WCKD soldiers had given them. They had to be Cranks; the shriek was the same, and although Thomas had barely seen their movements, he assumed that was identical, too.

The Cranks rounded the corner as they ascended the non-functioning escalators.

Thomas caught up with Newt, or maybe the blonde had lagged behind, and he twisted his neck to look at him. There was worry etched into every feature and something else that he was trying to hide, but was failing at; he was in pain.

“It’s okay,” Thomas encouraged through uneven breathing. “Keep going, it’s okay.”

_“I’d never let anyone hurt you. I’ll always protect you. Always.”_

He pulled on ahead, trying to get to the front of the group, being the leader they needed, and he was hot on Minho’s heels-

There was a crash from behind. Thomas turned instantly, eyes landing on Newt who was pinned under a wailing Crank. His instincts took over; he raced towards Newt and, with all the strength he could muster, kicked the Crank off of the blonde. Panting, he reached down to grab Newt by the forearm and hoisted him to his feet.

Newt patted Thomas’ chest with his free hand but his attention was directed towards the hoard of Cranks rapidly approaching them.

“Thanks, Tommy,” he gasped, voice hoarse.

_Tommy_. Newt had called him _Tommy_.

Thomas was speechless. He opened his mouth to reply, to say something – anything – but not even a breath surpassed his lips. Newt was tugging on his arm, shifting his stricken gaze to their friends waiting for them ahead, hollering at them to run.

“C’mon, Tommy,” Newt exclaimed. “We need to go!”

Thomas barely nodded before Newt was dragging him in a flat-out sprint through the abandoned shopping mall, eventually catching up to their friends.

Everything happened so fast. Thomas’ headspace was clustered with Newt’s voice repeating the nickname over and over again; Tommy. It was soft on his lips, careful, laced with a rare sort of tenderness that only Newt expressed towards him.

It buried its way into Thomas’ chest, a fluttering sensation spreading through his body. If he weren’t outrunning Cranks, he’d allow himself a decadent smile.

In another life, maybe he’d grab Newt by the collar of his jacket and kiss him.

But in this life, in this moment, Thomas ran, deprived of Newt’s comforting grasp as they barrelled towards safety.

Wherever that may be.

***

The following morning, they woke on hard ground and dusted in sand. Thomas was pressed close to Newt, his head buried in the blonde’s chest with an arm wrapped around his midriff.

Winston was laying on his back, coughing and wheezing, his head lolled to the side as if he were unconscious. He’d been bitten; he was trying to close a door, to block out the Cranks, but they caught his leg and hauled him towards them. The group had pulled him free but they were too late, and the infection was spreading.

“It’s safe,” Teresa said as she shook her friends awake. “But we need to go now. They’ll be looking for us.”

The boys groaned and opened their eyes, stretching out their limbs with a satisfying _crack_.

Thomas pushed himself up from where he was lying, edging away from Newt slightly. He looked down at the blonde (perhaps a second too long) as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Thomas wanted to clear the mop of golden hair from his face, but swallowed the desire before he could extend a hand.

He flung his backpack over his shoulders as he stood, stretching his arms upwards and feeling the hem of his shirt brush past his abdomen.

“Where are we going?” Thomas asked the group, but they were staring back at him with blank expressions. He looked to Teresa instead; “Teresa? Any ideas?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Aris cut her off; “I might know of a place,” he said. “There was talk about a rebel group – the Right Arm. Apparently, they broke into WCKD and got a bunch of kids out.”

“Any idea where they could be?”

Aris shook his head, “they went into hiding, haven’t been seen since.”

“And you didn’t lead with that?” Minho inquired. “And broke into which facility?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. It was just talk.”

Minho shifted his attention to Thomas. “We’d be following ghosts.”

“But that’s better than going on nothing. At least we’d _have_ something to look for.”

“I think Thomas is right,” Newt said as he joined the rest of the group, a slight hobble noticeable in his walk. “It’s a lead, and it’s worth the risk.”

The group nodded in agreement, apart from Teresa, who kept her gaze focussed on Thomas, as if she was silently pleading with him not to make that decision.

“Is everybody in, then? Because if we do this, there’s no going back,” Thomas informed. When the group conceded, they began their long journey over sand dunes and desert, through crumbled cities and debris, and they never looked back.

***

The city was a palette of grey and yellow.

Buildings has toppled and sunk into the sand. Cars were tipped over and shattered glass littered the road. An occasional creak could be heard, although Thomas wasn’t sure where it was coming from.

He’d never seen a landscape like this – or, maybe he had but the image had been wiped form his memory. He wouldn’t be surprised if that were true – but it was one of the most disastrously beautiful things in existence. The chaos contrasted with peace, and he knew then that the city was dead.

“We need to eat,” Minho said, interrupting the trance Thomas had lost himself in. “Maybe gather some more supplies.”

“I could eat a horse, that’s how hungry I am,” Newt admitted. Thomas felt his lips tug at the corners. He looked over his shoulder at the blonde, and _God_ did he look perfect.

The sun struck his hair, illuminating it into a shiny gold, and the light gust of wind swept it to the side. His cheekbones and jawline enhanced in the light, and his smile reached his ears. It was the happiest Thomas had seen him in days.

“Frypan, you stay here with Winston and Teresa,” Minho said to his friend as they lowered Winston to the ground. They’d built a gurney to carry him on as he was in such a terrible state he couldn’t walk. Quietly, so nobody else could hear, he whispered to Frypan; “keep an eye on her. I don’t trust her.”

“I’ll go with Newt,” Thomas said. “Try keep Winston in the shade, Fry. Can’t have him crisping like bacon while we’re away.”

“You got it,” Frypan said with a laugh.

“Don’t go too far!” Minho called over his shoulder, and Thomas mock saluted his friend.

The group departed, and Thomas thought that they were insane doing that. They were in a large city where danger could be lurking round every corner, where they could be surrounded by people or Cranks or _anything_ , and they had split up.

“I think I saw something back there,” Newt said.

“Wanna take a look?” Thomas asked.

“If that’s alright with you.”

“You don’t need my permission, you know.”

“I know.” Newt met Thomas’ eyes, his chocolate orbs glowing in the amber sunlight. “C’mon, it’s not much further.”

“Where are we going?” Thomas giggled as Newt dragged him into the entrance of a colossal building, jaded though still standing. Newt’s hand was coiled around Thomas’ wrist lightly, his skin prickling with delight at the contact. “We’re not supposed to go far from the others. It’s a supply run, remember?”

“Relax, Tommy. They’re not going to miss us for five minutes,” Newt replied, continuing to lead Thomas into a-

“It’s an art gallery.” Much to his dismay, Newt had let go of Thomas’ wrist, but he didn’t stop walking. Newt wandered into another room, his head swivelling to look at the paintings in frames that hung on the wall. He was in awe, “I can’t remember the last time I visited a place like this.”

“Me neither,” Thomas whispered, his eyes still trained on Newt. He looked surreal as he studied the remaining, undamaged artworks, his brown eyes glistening, an ear-to-ear grin painting his face.

“It’s beautiful,” breathed Newt.

“Yeah, it is.” Thomas bit down on the words he desperately wanted to speak.

_Yeah, you are. Among all the art in this room, you’re my favourite._

“I’m gonna take a look around,” Thomas said. “You keep…doing what you’re doing.”

“Believe me, Tommy, I’m not going anywhere.”

Thomas swore his heart skipped a beat; the nickname was still unfamiliar. It was foreign, but not when it surpassed Newt’s lips. It was so unbelievably right, it rolled off the tongue like it had been spoken a million times in a million different ways. It was intimate, and it was his.

He returned moments later with a cassette. It was slightly battered and filthy, but not enough to be broken. He thumbed away the dirt to reveal an undamaged tape.

“Look what I found,” he said as he re-entered the room where he’d left Newt. The blonde was still as infatuated with the art as he had been when he discovered it.

Newt craned his neck to look at Thomas and squinted at the object in his hand. “What’s that?”

Thomas stared at him, dumbfounded. “A cassette.” He set it down on a countertop, fiddling with the buttons. “I wonder if it still works.”

After a few seconds of silence, the gallery was filled with the sound of music flowing through it. It wasn’t crackling nor skipping, it was smooth and…louder than Thomas had expected. But it worked, and he beamed at the blonde, revelling in his success.

“Dance with me!” Thomas laughed, extending his hand out to Newt who took it shyly.

_The more you see, the less you know. The less you find out as you go. I knew much more then, than I do now._

The brunette took both of Newt’s hands in his and started shaking his shoulders, circling his arms in time to the music.

_Neon-heart, day-glow eyes. A city lit by fireflies. They're advertising in the skies for people like us._

Thomas took a step back, straightening his arms before yanking Newt towards him, colliding their bodies gently. He dropped one of his hands and rested it on Newt’s hips, and Newt took up residency on Thomas’ shoulder.

_And I miss you when you're not around. I'm getting ready to leave the ground._

Newt creeped out of his shyness and began swaying his body, and Thomas tilted his head back and laughed resoundingly. He moved his body in time with Newt’s, connecting their eyes as he dipped his chin back down.

_Oh, you look so beautiful tonight. In the city of blinding lights._

Thomas lifted an arm above his head and spun Newt around underneath. Both boys giggled as Newt rotated too quickly and stumbled to a dizzying stop against Thomas chest, where he rested his palm.

_Don't look before you laugh. Look ugly in a photograph. Flash bulbs, purple irises the camera can't see._

_I've seen you walk unafraid. I've seen you in the clothes you made. Can you see the beauty inside of me?_

_What happened to the beauty I had inside of me?_

They were smiling wildly, returning to their awkward shimmy but neither boy looking away.

_And I miss you when you're not around. I'm getting ready to leave the ground._

_Oh, you look so beautiful tonight._

Thomas slid his hands to Newt’s waist, holding him in a firm grip. His fingers curled around the blonde’s bony body, and Newt snaked his arms around Thomas’ neck.

_In the city of blinding lights._

_Time, time, time…won't leave me as I am, but time won't take the boy out of this man._

_Oh, you look so beautiful tonight_

Newt cupped Thomas’ jaw in his hands,

_Oh, you look so beautiful tonight_

And he brought their faces together.

_Oh, you look so beautiful tonight_

Thomas tightened his grip on Newt’s torso and pulled him impossibly closer.

_In the city of blinding lights._

They were dangerously close, their lips almost touching, but Thomas refused to tug him any closer.

_The more you know, the less you feel. Some pray for, others steal. Blessings are not just for the ones who kneel, luckily._

As the song came to an end, he scanned Newt’s eyes for any signs of permission, anything that screamed _this is okay, I want this. I want_ you _._

“I remembered you,” Thomas whispered, suddenly afraid of what it would mean if he were to seal the inch of space between them. “I remembered us.”

Newt furrowed his brows quizzically and opened his mouth to speak-

But he was cut off by the sound of a gunshot.

**PRESENT**

_Somewhere across the ocean_

The sky was a gradient of pink and purple as it transcended into darkness.

Newt approached the mountains as his eyes began to droop. He steered around mounds of jagged rocks and into a secluded area behind boulders.

He turned off the car once he’d stopped and climbed into the backseats

Where he lay, cold and shaking, until he fell asleep.

His dreams were filled with memories,

Of Thomas.

The…serum…medication…whatever

Was leaving his system slowly.

He just had to sleep it off,

Be patient.

Wait.

But he couldn’t afford to wait

Because Thomas was waiting for him.

He saw the brunette; his smile, his lean, muscular body,

Wearing the same khaki jacket

With an armoury tucked into his waistband underneath.

“You never know when you’ll need a gun,

Or a knife,

Or even a bomb.”

And Newt felt himself look at him curiously before Thomas said;

“Don’t worry, there’s no bomb.”

And Newt laughed

And laughed

And laughed

Until the memory didn’t feel right anymore.

It felt broken.

And he woke in a cold sweat. Newt leaned over to open the back door, throwing up on the ground below.

Tears leaked from his eyes. He wanted it to stop; the pain, the suffering…everything.

He wanted everything to stop until he was with Thomas again.

But he pushed on, climbing back into the driver’s seat and hotwired the vehicle with convulsing hands, and moved off.

His mind felt hazy, far away from reality. Was this just another dream? Or was he extremely disorientated?

But he pushed on

He pushed on

He pushed

On

Onwards.

To Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used is City of Blinding Lights by U2. 
> 
> This song (and In a Little While by U2) are really sentimental to me and in a way reminds me of Newtmas. 
> 
> I'm so so sorry that Newt's section is slightly shorter than usual but I promise that in the next chapter it'll be back to it's standard size!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and hopefully I'll see you all again soon!


	8. Don't Let Me Stop, and Don't Stop Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT PLEASE READ:
> 
> it’s come to my attention that people are seeing similarities between my work and draronoliver’s ‘Look After You’
> 
> i just want to clear this up: in the notes in my last chapter, i mentioned that the formatting of my fic was inspired by draronoliver (amy) and while that is true, i didn’t realise there had been similarities between our works as pointed out to her by others. 
> 
> in no way was i trying to copy or use her ideas. i’m absolutely not that kind of person. amy kindly reached out to me on instagram and we talked it over, and i explained that it was never my intention to make my work similar to hers. 
> 
> it’s very hard to be original nowadays but that’s not an excuse. i’m going to be making a very conscious effort to ensure i’m being as original as i can be as i continue to write this fic. 
> 
> i’m truly truly sorry if this has upset anyone and i completely understand if i lose your support. this is a fic that i knew i wanted to write over a year ago (but i never had the time) before i even discovered newtmas on ao3. i was a wattpad writer beforehand and this is the first fic i’ve wrote in 2 years.
> 
> again, this was never my intention. i simply wanted to write because it’s what i love to do. for those of you who i may have hurt or annoyed, i hope you can forgive me and if there's anyone who wants to reach out to me to talk it over, let me know in the comments and i'll let you know how to contact me.
> 
> my deepest apologies to all of you.
> 
> END SERIOUS NOTE
> 
> Hey everyone! I've been awful at writing recently and I know this chapter isn't as long as usual but college is *stressful*.
> 
> Apologies for such a late update. I feel as though it'll continue like this for the foreseeable future as I have way too many assignments to count right now. Hopefully the workload will lessen over Easter.
> 
> I just want to say thank you for sticking with me and being patient and for not pressuring me into writing. It helps to go at my own pace and I know that if I'm not rushing, I'll have a better story to produce!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter and I'll see you next week (probably) for the next one!

Thomas had called over Minho and Vince, who stood beside him almost protectively, and the woman called over her second and third; a burly man with a bandana wrapped around his head, and a woman who looked paler than she should have been, and wearing a black tank-top with shorts.

“I haven’t introduced myself,” she said, she stuck her hand out, and Thomas took it as his cue to shake it. “I’m Bianca. This is my brother, Terry, and my wife, Aveline.”

“Thomas.” He released his grip on her hand. “This is Minho and Vince.”

“Pleasure.” Bianca gave them a polite smile. Thomas thought it was strange to see her acting so friendly after one of her friends had nearly put a hole in Harriet’s head. “Sorry about scaring your girl. We wouldn’t _actually_ have shot her, we just wanted to know how much of a threat you posed.”

“Harriet will find a way to get her revenge.” Thomas knew she had a ‘no rest for the wicked’ attitude, and knew that, undoubtedly, they’d wake to a gunshot before sunrise, where Harriet would purposely miss one of their heads by inches.

“I don’t doubt it.” Bianca scanned their group, then looked back to Thomas. “This all you have with you?”

“Yeah, the rest of the group is-”

Vince nudged Thomas, immediately shutting him up. “What do you want?” Vince asked warily.

“We want protection and, by the looks of things, that’s what you have.”

“It’s not that easy,” Thomas said. “This is something that we fought for and we don’t let people in easily. How do we know that you can be trusted?”

Bianca sighed, exasperated. “Look, pretty boy, this something we’ve been searching for since the start of the Outbreak. We’re tired, we’re hungry. We’ve got kids to protect. Surely we can work something out.”

“How many kids you got?” Vince asked. “And how old?”

“Ten kids, ranging from five to twelve, and a few teens.”

“Some of us lost our kids to WCKD,” Aveline chipped in. “Including us. Our daughter-”

She choked up, blinking away the tears in her eyes.

“We don’t know if our daughter is dead or alive,” Bianca finished. “That’s why we went to the Last City, to see if she was there.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said. “Really, I am.”

“Is there anything you can do for us?” Terry asked this time, his voice deeper than Thomas expected. “Anything at all?”

Thomas took a moment to think it over. He felt their loss; it ran deep in them, burrowing itself in their hearts. He knew that if he were in their position, he’d be begging for safety.

“We’ll take you with us,” he said eventually. “All of you. But I swear to God, if any of you betray us, I’ll allow Harriet her revenge early.”

“No funny business, got you,” Bianca said, a watery smile appearing on her face. “Thank you, Thomas.”

“Don’t thank me.” Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just prove yourself to me, and we’re on good terms.”

She nodded. “Do you mind if we looked around the store? Get some stuff for ourselves?”

“Go for it.” Vince said. “We can’t provide everything.”

“We won’t leave until you’re ready. No rush, take your time. I’ll send some of my guys in with you, keep tabs, if you don’t mind,” Thomas added.

Bianca chuckled, “you’re the boss.”

She hollered for her group to follow. Four of them stayed as lookouts and the six of them looking after the children came down to the car park. Bianca led what looked to be twenty people into the store, and Thomas signalled for Frypan, Aris and two of the trainees to follow.

“I’m gonna head in, too. Just to keep an eye out,” Vince said. “I think you did the right thing, Thomas.”

As he walked away, Minho turned to him, forcing Thomas to look him in the eye.

“Why now?” Minho asked. “After everyone we’ve turned away, why let this group stay?”

“When they mentioned their daughter,” Thomas began, “I couldn’t help but think of Newt.”

“Me too,” Minho whispered.

“We can help them,” Thomas said. “Give them jobs, bring them on runs.”

“You’re gonna have to break the news to the Safe Haven.”

“Do you reckon they’ll take it well?”

“Most of them, yeah. But I know some of them will be wary.”

“Hey, Thomas!” Gally yelled. “Jorge’s on the radio.”

Thomas and Minho jogged towards Gally, who stretched out his hand with the walkie in it.

“Jorge, you there?”

“We’re here, Thomas. How’s it looking at your end?”

“We have company. A group of forty, it looks like. They’re coming back with us.”

“You need us back there, hermano?”

“No, no, we’re good. Everything’s good. Do me a favour? Go back to the Safe Haven, brief the kitchen and the medics, we’ll need to feed these guys and possibly do some check-ups.”

“We’re on it,” came Brenda’s voice. “How much longer are you gonne be out there?”

“We’re not sure, they’re getting supplies. We’ll radio you when we’re leaving.”

“Copy that, over and out.”

Thomas put the radio back into Gally’s car. “Picked up your crown again, your majesty?”

Gally mockingly bowed before Thomas, stooping low. Thomas shoved the taller boy, causing him to stumble backwards into Harriet.

“Dude! Get off of me.” She dropped her gun to catch Gally, and she lifted him back up with her hands under his arms. “Next time, I’ll let you fall.”

“And let me scrape my beautiful hands?”

Harriet rolled her eyes. “Who ever said you have beautiful hands? They’re smooth, at the very least.”

“Which makes them beautiful!”

“Get a room,” Minho murmured and Harriet shot him a furious look.

“Say that again and I’ll rip your-”

“Alright! Keep it PG, Harriet. There are kids here.” Minho twitched his head in the direction of the children, who were running around the car park.

“I wasn’t going to say anything crude,” she argued.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh, really? We know you too well to know that’s bull-”

“ _Children_!” Minho half whined, half shouted.

Thomas, Harriet and Gally let out a howl of laughter at Minho’s exasperation, catching the attention of the lookouts from Bianca’s group. But they didn’t care; they were in each other’s company, forgetting the world and the cards it had dealt them, and Thomas felt more at ease in that moment than he had in months.

***

Bianca and her team loaded up their trucks and turned them into the parking lot. The driver’s circled around Vince while the rest of Thomas’ group settled themselves into their cars.

“I’ll take the lead,” Vince said. “Start following behind. I want Gally and Harriet in the middle of your group, and Frypan, Minho and Thomas bringing up the rear. Radio me if there are any problems.”

Thomas sat in the passenger seat, with Frypan driving and Minho in the back.

They filed out of the parking lot and turned right, out on to the main road and back to the Safe Haven. The drive was long, the silence disturbed every so often with Vince calling out checkpoints, and Jorge informing them that they’d made it back to the Safe Haven without any problems.

It was late afternoon when they returned. The sky was a deep pink colour, indicating that night was falling despite it not being late. The seasons were changing, and winter was coming.

Sonya and Teresa were heading towards the trucks, Sonya running straight to Harriet and throwing her arms around her, and Teresa making her way towards Frypan.

“Hey,” she said. “How was the run?”

“Good, actually,” Frypan responded. “I managed to get the stuff you asked for you plus some extra things.” He popped open the trunk and lifted out the container. “Do you need any help?”

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.” Teresa flashed a friendly smile before taking the container from him. “Jorge stopped by, we’re ready to do checks on them when they are.”

“I’ll let Thomas know.”

“No need, I heard,” Thomas piped up. “I’ll send them over after they’ve eaten.”

Teresa nodded then turned, walking back towards the clinic. A separate hut had been built for the medics to work in. It was slightly larger than a cabin, but still relatively small for what they needed. They had three beds inside along with cupboards filled with medical supplies.

“We’ll work on getting the supplies put away, you deal with the newbies for now,” Minho said to Thomas.

“Thanks, Min.” Thomas slapped his friend on the shoulder and jogged to find Bianca. She had taken a few steps forward, scanning the Safe Haven with her arms folded.

“Nice place you got here,” she said as Thomas approached. “Been here long?”

“Six months,” Thomas replied. “We’ll get you guys settled in. The kitchens are gonna start on dinner soon and then the medics want to run some check-ups.”

“You have medics?”

“Sort of,” Thomas said with a smile. “Teresa is the best we have and she’s been training a couple of girls.”

Thomas neglected to mention that Teresa had previously worked for WCKD, fearing that Bianca’s trust in them would lessen if she found out about her betrayal.

“We have a couple of people who used to be doctors. If you asked, I’m sure they could show your girls a few things.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. I’m sure they’d appreciate that.” Bianca’s group began to gather around them and Thomas suddenly felt nervous. Pressured. “We have some spare cabins with beds, and a shelter with hammocks. Some of our guys sleep there but there’s enough room for everyone.

“Shower blocks are mornings only, everyone gets a bar of soap each, just see the medics for that. Dirty clothes go in a laundry basket that we’ll leave in your cabin or beside your hammocks. We have a group of people who do the washing, but if you’d prefer to wash your own clothes then no one is going to stop you.

“Breakfast, lunch and dinner are all served at the kitchens. Gally and Harriet take training sessions, so speak to them for more information. Everybody is assigned a job role, childcare can be excused, and if there are any pressing matters, speak to either Vince, Minho or myself.

“Any questions?”

When Bianca’s group shook their heads, Thomas led them to the kitchens. They gazed in awe at the Safe Haven, marvelling at the hand built wooden structures and functioning showers.

“We’re going to need more chairs,” Thomas mumbled to himself as they sat themselves at tables, some of them sitting on the sand.

“When do we get a tour of this place?” Terry asked.

“I’ll get someone to show you around tomorrow. It’s not difficult to navigate but I’d rather you know where everything is.”

“This place is amazing,” Aveline said, her head swivelling in all directions. “Did you do this yourselves?”

“Yeah, we did. Pretty proud of it, too.”

“What was your life like,” Aveline asked, “you know, before the Outbreak?”

“I was only a kid. I don’t really remember it considering WCKD took our memories. I got some of mine back but…only enough to remember growing up in a WCKD facility.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologised. “I didn’t realise-I mean, I knew that WCKD would have had you but-”

Thomas cut her off with a small laugh. “No, it’s alright. I remember some things, but not others. It’s complicated.”

“I understand.” Aveline gave him a sad smile. “What kind of jobs do you guys offer?”

“Medics, weaponry, supply runs, construction, cooking, cleaning…that sort of thing. How come?”

“Before the Outbreak, I was a mental health counsellor. Do you think there’s any room for that kind of job?”

“I’m sure there is. I’ll talk to Vince, see if we can get something set up.”

“Thank you, Thomas.” Aveline clasped his hand in hers, a gesture of appreciation, before letting him go.

Thomas caught the look of nervous onlookers as they studied the new group. Frypan and the kitchen staff were busy preparing meals while the rest of the Safe Haven finished their working day.

“We’re gonna need a lot more supplies now, huh,” Thomas said to Frypan as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“We have an extra forty mouths to feed,” Frypan said as he tipped pasta into a pot. “But I’m sure they can help with the supply runs.”

“We’re gonna have to have slots for dinner now, too.”

Frypan chuckled. “No doubt. If someone creates a schedule, we can work around it.”

“I’ll get on to that.” Thomas chanced another look at Bianca’s group. They were smiling – laughing, even – and chatting to one another. Some of them still seemed unsettled, indicated by their tensed shoulders, but ultimately knew that the Safe Haven would be their new home.

“Some of the guys in here aren’t happy,” Frypan whispered as he leaned closer to Thomas. “You might wanna give our group a speech, just to reassure them.”

Thomas didn’t hesitate, he pushed himself to stand on top of the kitchen counter, and Frypan snatched the surrounding food before Thomas could stomp on it with his mucky boots. He swatted the back of his calves, letting out a cry of protest, earning a grin from Thomas.

“Can I have everyone’s attention?” he called, and was met with expectant faces, too many to count. “As you’ll have noticed by now, we have a new group joining us. I’ve made it clear to them that if they mess with any of us, they’re gone. But in return, I want all of you to welcome them the same way we welcomed all of you. This is a Safe Haven and it’s open to everyone, so long as they can earn their keep. From now on, there’s no our group versus their group; we’re all one group, we’re all survivors.

“With that said, if Bianca’s crew want to express any concern but don’t feel comfortable talking to myself, Vince or Minho, then talk to Bianca and she’ll pass it on to me.”

“What about food?” asked Sonya. “Will we have enough for everyone?”

“That’s something we’re going to have to work around, with scheduled dinners and frequent supply runs.” Thomas looked around his group, meeting their exhaustion and somewhat agitation. “Look, guys. We’ve survived so much, all of us, and I know that when there’s been a challenge, we’ve overcome it. They’re good people, just like all of you, and I want to make this work.”

“And it will work,” Minho jumped in. He strode towards Thomas slowly, kicking the sand with his boots as he went. “You gave a great speech, now get down from there.”

The group laughed, and Thomas felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He smiled at Minho, rolling his eyes as he crouched down on the counter, about to jump off when Minho said, “need a hand, princess?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Thomas mumbled as his feet hit solid ground. Minho let out a bout of laughter, and when Thomas turned to look at his friend, he felt a smile residing itself on his face.

It grew even wider when Minho attempted a jesting, flirtatious wink.

**BEFORE**

_The Scorch_

Thomas and Newt sprung away from each other. They grabbed their rucksacks and sprinted out the gallery door.

In that moment, it wasn’t the panic of how close together they were standing, of how they danced and how Thomas admitted to remembering Newt – it was the panic of a gunshot and not knowing who had fired it or if anyone was injured.

It just so happens that it broke their moment in the process.

Newt skidded to a halt in front Winston. Teresa was holding a gun, her hand shaking and tears falling from her face.

“What happened?” Newt asked, breathing heavily. He repeated the question louder when nobody responded. “What _happened_?”

“He tried to-” Teresa cut herself off, choking on her words.

But she didn’t need to finish her sentence. They knew what Winston had tried to do.

“Why?” Newt whispered. He sounded broken – beyond broken – as he spoke. “Why did you do it?”

“It’s growing,” Winston moaned. He lifted his t-shirt to reveal a festered wound. Black veins spread to his chest and below the waistband of his jeans. He was sweating profusely and his breathing was laboured.

“Leave me,” he whimpered. “Go on without me.”

“Winston-” Newt tried to argue.

“I’ll be okay.”

Thomas put his arm out in front of Teresa and took the gun from her hands. She gave it over without a fight, it slipped out of her fingers and her body relaxed with the weight of it gone. She picked up her bag and took a step back, unable to look away from Winston as she did so.

Wordlessly, they all bent down to say goodbye to Winston, whether it be a pat on the shoulder or a hand shake, and a forced, apologetic smile. Thomas heard Newt sniffle as he bid a hushed goodbye, holding Winston’s hand in his for what felt like eternity, refusing to let go, knowing it would be the last time they’d have contact.

And nobody was willing to admit it aloud.

“Take care of them for me, Thomas,” Winston whispered as salty tears made their way down his cheeks. “I know you can save them; I’ve always believed in you.”

Thomas pressed the gun into his palm, never breaking eye contact, before placing a hand on Winston’s shoulder. “I promise.”

He grabbed his bag as he stood, glancing at Winston one last time, and filed behind the Gladers as they walked away.

The silence was deafening. Nobody spoke. Thomas hadn’t known Winston for long but he knew that his friends had spent three years with him, and he knew that they were grieving.

He was prepared to give them space.

The walk through the city was long and undisturbed. Minho led them around obstacles and Thomas helped Teresa over what she struggled to climb, and in the process, he caught Newt’s penetrating gaze. He looked sunken, stuck in a limbo of angry, sad and jealous.

Thomas wanted to stride up to him, grab his wrist and pull him into his arms again. He wanted to hold him like he had in the Gallery, not caring if everybody saw. He wanted to calm Newt while he broke down, pick up the pieces of his shattered heart.

He would move heaven and earth if it made things easier. He would banish hell and purgatory, scalding himself on eternal flame, if it removed his suffering. He would do it a million times over until it was perfect.

But as Thomas put one foot in front of the other, plucking up the courage to comfort Newt, a single, loud gunshot could be heard.

They froze, like ice had surged through their body and paralysed them. Thomas chanced a look at Newt, who was looking over his shoulder and a tear tracked its way down his face. He stared at Thomas, and Thomas instinctively knew he _had_ to put one foot in front of the other.

The sand crunched under his shoes as he stepped towards the blonde. He ignored the side-eyed looks his friends were giving him as they tried not to be obvious, but failing. It was the sort of moment where you know you shouldn’t look except you can’t help _but_ look. The moment where it’s strictly none of your business but you were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And there are a hundred different places you could look, but your attention is grasped by the scene playing out before you.

Thomas approached Newt, and Newt watched him with intense eyes. He questioned Thomas’ every move, every motive; if he came closer, how would Newt react? Would he welcome him in or push him away?

The brunette stopped beside Newt. Their gazes never left one another, not even as Thomas brushed his knuckles against Newt’s. He fought the desire to thread their fingers together, conscious of their friends watching with heightened curiosity.

“I’m not going to pretend like I have the right words,” Thomas said, his voiced hushed so only Newt could hear. “Because I don’t. I don’t have _any_. And I’m not going to give you some half-assed inspirational shit about needing to live because Winston would have wanted you to.”

“Then what are you going to give me?” Newt asked.

“Time,” Thomas answered. “However much of it you need. I’ll be right here with you but I’m not going to talk until you’re ready to. And even if you decide not to, I’m still not going to leave your side.” Thomas paused, letting his words sink in. “And maybe in that time, I’ll think of the right words.”

Maybe Thomas had found the right words after all, because Newt smiled. It wasn’t an ear-to-ear grin, it was a corner that unintentionally stretched upward. Newt looked away from Thomas and into the horizon.

“You’re something else, Tommy.”

Newt turned his wrist carefully moved his hand a fraction of an inch closer to Thomas’. He caressed Thomas’ finger tips with his own, and he craved for _more_. More contact, more intimacy, more of Thomas.

“We should go before we lose daylight,” Newt suggested, breaking the flush of heat surging through Thomas.

“I’ll lead the way, I guess,” Thomas said. “Stay close to me, yeah?”

“Always.”

Thomas turned back to face the group, who frantically cast their eyes in another direction. “Let’s go!” He hollered, and the group followed him, spaced out but within a proximity where they could hear and see each other clearly.

Newt filed in behind Thomas, close but not breathing down his neck. He was close enough that, if he wanted, he could reach out and take Thomas’ hand in his, but far enough that he could have his own space without it feeling intruded.

And Thomas ensured he never strayed more than a few paces from Newt. If Newt needed him, he’d be there, just like he said. But it also provided comfort to Thomas that, if he began to feel overwhelmed, Newt would be there in an instant to protect him.

Because that’s how they worked; as a team, as a duo.

As Thomas and Newt.

***

Night had fallen by the time they made camp.

Minho was busy working the fire while the rest of the Gladers lounged beside it, keeping themselves warm. Thomas, however, was agitated, his left leg bouncing up and down.

He stood up suddenly, startling the group, and he walked off a few paces into the distance where he found a boulder to sit on. All eyes fell to Newt as though they expected him to react. The way his eyes were trained on Thomas made it clear that he would, but he was giving him a moment alone before he joined him.

Newt pushed himself to his feet and sat beside Thomas, knocking their shoulders together in the process. He saw that Thomas was twiddling Chuck’s figurine in his hands.

“You alright?” He asked. Thomas heaved a sigh and flickered his gaze towards Newt. It was answer enough despite the lack of response, and Newt continued, “Talk to me, Tommy. Are the plates spinning again?”

Thomas huffed out a laugh. “Yeah.” He stopped fiddling with the carved figure and pocketed it. “Am I the reason we’re stuck out here?”

“No,” Newt said, hurt laced in his voice. “You’re the reason we’re free.”

“Maybe, but you were right; it’s not just me. I couldn’t have done this alone.”

“Tommy…” Newt trailed off. Seeing Thomas looking utterly defeated left a pang of hurt in his chest.

“I don’t know where we’re going,” Thomas admitted. “We’re lost.”

“We’ve been lost before.” Newt nudged his body impossibly closer to Thomas’.

“Not like this.” Thomas turned to face the expanse of darkness in front of them, the moonlight illuminating the outline of the hills in the distance. But Newt’s eyes never stopped tracing the constellation of freckles on his cheeks, which he’d only just noticed.

“There is a place for us out there. I don’t know where it is, or how we get there, but it exists, and it’s a somewhere that we belong. Not somewhere that we’ve been thrown into, but a somewhere to be discovered and claim as our own.”

Before any second thoughts occurred, Newt reached out and placed a dainty finger underneath Thomas’ chin and forced his head to turn. Their eyes connected and, despite having been this close already, it was a new form of intimacy and Newt was nervous. He didn’t remove his hand, though. Instead, he cupped Thomas’ jaw and rubbed his thumb over his cheekbones.

Thomas nuzzled into the contact and Newt stiffened at the reciprocation. The brunette noticed and moved to pull back but Newt placed a firmer grip on Thomas’ jaw and kept him still.

“And I know it’s a burden, but we’re following _you_. So you can’t give up.” Newt traced his fingers along Thomas’ cheekbones and around his ear, grazing his fingers over the brunette’s hair as he did so. “I won’t let you.” 

Thomas swore his heart sped and body shuddered when Newt touched him like that. He didn’t want him to stop; he wanted to lose himself in his eyes, surrender to the powerful emotions coursing through his body and drown himself in every fibre – every cell – of Newt.

“I know,” Thomas whispered. “Don’t let me stop, and don’t stop me.”

_Don’t stop me from doing what I need to do._

_Whatever it takes, don’t let me stop._

_Don’t stop me from feeling the way I feel._

_Whatever it takes, don’t let me stop doing what I need to do to protect you._

_Don’t stop me from succumbing to the emotions inside of me as they fight against my restraint, as I lose my control over them._

_Don’t let me stop when I yield, when I give in, because I need you to show me that it’s okay, that you don’t want me to stop._

_Because I don’t want to be stopped._

**PRESENT**

_Somewhere across the ocean_

Newt felt as though he had sobered up by the time he started driving. It felt foreign to him, considering he’d spent the better part of…

How long had it been?

Out of it on whatever drugs the doctors were pumping through him.

It reminded him that he needed to eat but his body had survived…

How long had it been?

On minimal food content, so he figured he’d be fine for another day or two.

He wasn’t as hazy this time, his vision clear and, mentally, strapped to reality. Sometimes, he thought it was a bad thing because it reminded him that he was alone.

Alone.

But not for much longer.

Because he recognised where he was. He knew the road. He looked to his left, out of the passenger window, and saw the ruins of the Last City.

It had been decimated. The Maze-like walls crumbled under the weight of fallen buildings. There was no fire, no flames, only destruction.

So, to answer his own question; it had been a long time.

But Newt’s next thought caused his heart to palpitate:

_Did Thomas get out?_

But of course he did. He was Thomas, there was no way he wouldn’t have survived. He always found a way.

He was alive. He was still alive. He had to be. Because Newt wasn’t giving up until he found him, even if it meant scouring the earth until the end of his days.

Even if it meant rearranging the solar system.

He wouldn’t stop.

So, he drove on through a familiar tunnel – the one that he, Thomas and Frypan were chased through by Cranks. Jorge and Brenda had rescued them, picking them up and carrying them through to the other side.

This time, he was alone and he was weaponless. And there was nobody to rescue to his ass if he were swarmed by Cranks.

Maybe it was a stroke of good luck – or the universe felt sorry for him – that the tunnel was empty, save for the few stray Cranks clawing their way into the cave walls.

The black on their face, on their hands, startled Newt. He’d seen it before but from a different perspective.

_Newt looked down and his hands were coated in black. In the reflection of Thomas’ eyes, he saw his face, more black dripping down his cheeks like stained tears._

_What was happening to him?_

Newt gasped. He was in the truck, he was driving, he was safe. So what had he seen?

Had it been a dream? Or a memory?

Had he been a Crank?

Had he died?

What happened to him?


End file.
